Seeking

You are the only person on earth who can use your ability. 

- Zig Ziglar

Recently, I've been hunting through our home for a blue folder. It seems silly. Honestly, who needs a blue folder that bad? 

This particular blue folder contains the only remaining print outs of the stories I wrote from my college creative writing courses. They say you always remember the precise moment you fall in love with something. Your spouse, your first born, perhaps even a hobby. For me, I remember the precise moment I fell in love with writing.  

It was an "optional" course on a creative track to achieve my undergraduate degree. I had other options but was drawn to writing for some reason. I knew from the first day I entered my non-fiction class, it would be my favorite. I can remember the classroom like it was yesterday, a lawnmower running in the distance and the smell of freshly mowed grass wafting in the windows. Professor of the year entered the room with a flair I'd never had in a college professor. Like a spring breeze blowing straight off a meadow riddled with prairie flowers, she was stuck somewhere between hippie and Dakota farm girl. She was in a band and had traveled the United States in a van. She spoke about writing as though it were effortless. She was interesting in a way I'd not encountered and she had a way of making you feel as though you were interesting, too. When we would pitch stories for writing, she would lean in and pierce you with eye contact that was never uncomfortable. Her gentle smile growing wider and wider as you spoke. She was always truly interested. I'd not encountered something like this in college, and I liked it. 

That blue folder holds memories for me. Stories I wrote that crept deep into my soul as professor of the year worked to bring out writing in me I never knew I had. I long to find that folder. Yet I don't know if it's to read what is inside, or is it to feel the way she used to make me feel?  

So, it's no surprise that when #1 opted to take creative writing this year, I was ecstatic. Not because I wanted her to write, but because I wanted her to feel the way I felt all those years ago. Sitting in a classroom, feeling carefree, writing about things I'd never told anyone. It was a safe space and I guess each of us came seeking some of that. Daughter of the year #1 and I went into this class thinking it would be a great skill-builder, yet we already see it's so much more than that. 

While typing out stories all those years ago, I found a new part of me. Whether or not it was truly new remains to be seen. Perhaps it was just dormant and this professor was a pro at bringing out those parts. Every week, I grew anxious to read her comments in beautifully scripted blue ink on my drafts. 

"You're holding back," she'd say.

"But what did you feel in this part?" she'd probe.

"Every bit of non-fiction has a little fiction in it," she once exclaimed. 

And the one that hung with me for a lifetime, "Write what you know." 

As I hunt for that folder I know what I'm truly seeking are not those stories. What I'm seeking is the confidence contained within. I know I walked taller, smiled more, and was full of excitement with every new story. While yes, an excellent skill-builder for #1, was it possible I really was seeking the same thing for her?

I finally found the folder. It contained a few stories but others I was hoping to read were no where to be found. So much time has passed, I don't remember everything I wrote then, and I know I never will. Sadness crept in, almost a feeling of loss. Then, #1 shared with me an email she'd received from her creative writing teacher, complimenting her on a recent poem assignment. I didn't remember her mentioning a poem being due. 

"Can I read it?" I asked.

As she handed me her phone, explaining the assignment to write a poem about where she is from, my eyes began combing the words on the screen. Simply put, it was beautiful. There was no holding back, she definitely wrote what she knew, and the feeling came through loud and clear. In the end, as I cleared tears from my eyes, her confidence radiating, I swore I caught the slightest smell of freshly mowed grass. Who needs that blue folder anyway?