"So I could read it."

Lame, I know: my #1 follower

Author and Nobel laureate Toni Morrison didn't start writing until she was almost 40 years old. The first book she ever published, The Bluest Eye, is one of my favorite books of all time.  When somebody asked her why, after all that time, she'd decided to write that book she said, "So I could read it."

I heard that.

A medical student recently asked me, "What prompted you to start writing this blog?"

Hmmmm.

Okay. . . it's true that I write this blog to honor patients, their stories, and to underscore the ups and downs of fighting for work/life balance. No question. But now when I think about Ms. Morrison's words, I realize what I should have said:

"So I could read it."

I think that's also part of the answer to the question I hear the most frequently: "How do you find the time to do this?"  We find the time for the things that are important to us. And this has become important to me, so I have to find it somewhere. Nestled between that moment when I first wake up to those first few seconds that the kids break the morning silence. Or intertwined in those few hours after the last Dr. Seuss book and falling asleep with a book in my hand. Even if it means not watching much television. Or talking on the phone a little less. I have to find the time to do this.

So I can read it.

Nope. I'm no Toni Morrison, but I sure relate to her impetus to write. Reading my own stories has made me a better doctor, a better teacher, a better mommy, a better wife, but most of all, a better friend to myself. It's given me a golden opportunity to visit with me regularly and often, sometimes laughing out loud over an early morning cup of joe or "ugly crying" into the crook of my own elbow late at night until I'm out of breath and tissue.

Yeah.

It's an honor to know that anyone has spent even a moment of their day reading what I've written. Seriously. And I'm the first to admit that sharing these thoughts and hearing affirmations nudges me to keep at it.  But deep down, I admit: sometimes I can't wait to finish a story. . . .just so I can read it. And learn from it.

Lame, I know.

My friend and fellow Grady doctor, Neil W., calls me a "free-style" writer. Kind of like those rappers who rhyme off the top of their heads without scribbling or erasing my words off of a notebook multiple times before performing for a crowd. He's right. Most times, I just have to get it out so I just type, type, type. . . and (thanks to my mom, the queen of "girl, you have two typos in that post and 'eachother' is NOT one word for the millionth time,'") my "free-style" approach works. .  .and has made this a surprisingly painless form of self-exploration. Taking the time out to do this is a gift I give to myself, my #1 reader.

That's been one of the most surprising perks of doing this. I've gotten so much closer to me.

(Lame again, I know.)

I now believe that everyone should have some kind of activity that allows them time to befriend themselves. In doing so, you quickly find that you are the friend who is always willing to try that new restaurant, to hear the same stories about what your kids are up to over and over again, and not mind being tapped into late at night for last-minute advice (on the same damn issue--again.)

I'm not sure what you do to befriend yourself. . . . .

But I hope it's something. For me, it's writing. About everything and about nothing. And these days I'm thankful for this electronic labor of love that has forced me to take pause in this hectic life and spend a little time hanging out with someone who has finally become my BFF--me. 

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What do you do to connect with you?

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Here is a neat essay on finding the time to do something meaningful like writing, shared with me by my blog-friend Lisa R. (Thanks, Mama-smacksy! )