For the longest time, I believed that writing had to look a certain way. I bought into the narrative that crafting a compelling story was contingent on specific circumstances.

I used to think writing had to take place in a local coffee shop, inspired by the background soundtrack of folksy music and hipster chatter.

I used to think writing meant a freshly sharpened pencil and a clean blank page.

I used to think writing had to be contained in a beautiful notebook as my hand filled its soft paper.

I used to think writing looked like wide, sun soaked desks on uninterrupted afternoons.

I used to think writing meant quiet moments and complete thoughts.

I used to think writing looked like long stretches of prose poured out onto the page.

I used to think writing was only a finished story and perfectly picked words.

But then I realized that I wasn’t writing, because these conditions so rarely exist in my life. My hands are too often filled with children and not pencils. My moments are filled with (loud) noise, the times of quiet contemplation few and far between. When writing is a passion and not yet a profession, you have to find a way to fit it into your already full life.

So now I realize writing, at least for right now, has to look a little different. Writing has to be purposefully squeezed into the cracks between the tasks and needs of daily life with young children.

I now know writing can take place on a soft bed with the heavy weight of a toddler napping against me.

I now know writing means taking advantage of the notes app on my phone and the ability to type with a single thumb.

I now know that words hold just as much power and beauty whether leisurely hand written or quickly typed.

I now know writing looks like stolen moments in the still dark of the morning with a child all too soon climbing onto my lap.

I now know writing means jotting down a thought here and an idea there in hopes of one day finding enough time and energy to string them together into a coherent storyline.

I now know writing looks like embarrassingly small word counts built up over time.

I now know that writing looks like more typos than thesaurus usage and more practice than perfection, just to get the words flowing.

If we wait until the perfect conditions exist to pursue our passions, they will very likely remain idle forever. Life has a funny way of popping up and throwing hurdles in the face of our dreams. The grit comes when we push forward and persevere, in spite of, not because of, our circumstances. Pursuing something you love, especially when it doesn’t make you any money, probably won’t look like what you imagined. In the short run, it may look like a lot more work and a lot less pleasure than you would have hoped. It will look like burning the candle at both ends just to keep that ember of passion alive, and trying not to burn out in the process. But press on, ignite your fire one small spark at a time. It is through these small steps, with enough time and patience and practice that we feed the flames of our souls and eventually grow a passion into project of which we can be proud.