In my writing class my teacher Laurie Wagner always reminds us to write as badly as possible.  Like it’s the goal. Messy. Imperfect writing.

I never thought I’d take a writing class. That sounds way too scary! I’m not a writer!

Then, I signed up, well because it was conveniently being held in my art studio at the time and heck, I was already there and making coffee for it.

Now, I see my writing class as my weekly therapy, re-set button and way to engage with myself and others on this entirely other level. One that I never have exactly experienced before, but gotten tastes of through other art classes.

The thing that continues to amaze me personally is if you had ever asked me if I wanted to take a writing class, my answer would have been no.

If you had ever asked me if I’d want to read my writing around a table to other women… my answer would have been NO.

In theory it’s the scariest thing for this introvert to do. Read my written word directly after writing it with no time to edit. YIKES!!

I’m not a writer!

Which I realize, I have written a book… but… that’ just a painting book… and I’m writing right this moment… but it’s my blog.

It’s funny how we categorize ourselves as creative or not. As artists or not. As writers or not. We all have the ability to dabble. To own it. To jump on in!

And the beauty is that it stretches us. It reminds us that we are in fact alive and learning and growing and stretching ourselves to our edges.

Doing it badly along the way. Giving ourselves permission to make mistakes. It may be exactly the answer to connect the dots to what makes you FEEL. Isn’t that why we’re alive in the first place? The human experience. Being present. In the flow. Having fun!

I’m reminded of all of this while reading Anne Lammot’s words on Brain Pickings.