A friend of mine recently asked me if I was writing anymore as she noticed I have been absent from my blog and social media.
I replied. “I am, I’m just busy”, but as the conversation moved on, I felt a little pang in my heart.
You see, I hate the term busy.
I feel it is a cop-out.
A term used to get out of things that don’t matter or to brush off things that aren’t a priority, but writing for me has always been both a love and a priority; part of who I am, a way to vent, to share and to express myself and somewhere in my busy-ness I have found a way to let it go.
That makes me sad.
With the insurgence of AI, I have felt that everyone is now a writer.
That with a couple quick prompts anyone and everyone can bang off a blog post like I have been doing and it kind of breaks my heart as I have been a writer forever. It’s in my blood. It’s what I went to school for and although journalism programs all over the country are dying off, I still firmly believe that being called to share and tell stories is a gift and not just a prompt task.
I’m sad because my love of words which were once an art form and carefully curated to create a piece are now just words on paper that anyone can do.
So I paused.
I let it go.
I saw acquaintances who couldn’t even string two words together publishing books by the use of AI.
And again I say, it made me sad.
So I paused.
When I shared this sentiment with my mom I thought she was going to breathe fire through her nostrils.
“Anyone can copy, but YOU can write.”
She glared into my eyes, her eyes filled with fire, and I saw in her the passion that mine were missing.
My mom has always been my number one fan. My voice of reason. My encouragement when I’m down and my voice of praise when I’m up.
She believes in me, and in her fire, I felt mine start to ignite again.
You see, believing is hard.
Really hard.
Take it from the eyes of my children who are five years apart.
One darts out of bed every morning rushing around the house to find our elf Pixie to see what mischief she has gotten into while the older one dawdles behind, the excitement and belief gone, but playing along to appease her sister.
Believing in anything is hard.
Especially when we can’t see it, or feel it, or touch it.
And I guess when I spill out all of these words I find it hard to believe in myself as I don’t know if anyone is even reading or listening… or if I am just drown out by the thousands of other voices that we scroll through every day.
But here is the one thing I do know.
Being authentic will never let you down.
Speaking what you know and sharing who you are is always a good decision.
Trying to be someone you are not will only cheat yourself and will eventually lead to you losing sight of who you are too.
As I scroll through the hundreds of messages in all of my group chats this week, I have felt overwhelmed as the pressure to be Christmas perfect is hard.
Everyone seems to be doing it differently.
Some elves bring daily gifts.
Some elves get into crazy mischief.
Some elves just move, place to place, nothing extravagant.
And somewhere in all of that “extra” that we moms are bringing, kids are talking and their belief is dying off sooner and sooner.
Kids in grade one and two are coming home saying it is not real and I firmly believe that it is because we have done..too much.
We have killed the magic, by being a little too extra.
We have taken things up not just one notch, but 50 and because we are over-doing it, we are ruining it for our kids.
In my era we didn’t have elves or constant images.
We had magazines to circle our wishes.
We had a sheet of paper to write those wishes down for Santa.
And we had one partially drunk, creepy old guy, with his beard on crooked and jeans poking out of his suit, sitting in the mall to tell our wishes to.
And yet somewhere in all of that simplicity… we believed!
Some of us until we were probably in grade 8. Myself… I still believe.
So as I scroll through all of these group chats, I am reminded again that sometimes keeping it simple is the best decision.
Sometimes just being real, and raw and honest counts more than shiny and flashy.
And within the chaos that is Christmas and that small fire that has once again been reignited in my heart, I am reminded that although flashy and shiny and over the top seem to be taking over… my little voice will always matter because it is authentic.
I promise to never stop writing.
To keep showing up, even when the voices of AI try to drown me out.
To keep providing content that will most likely get stolen and posted by others, but you know what… I believe in myself and this is what I’m meant to do.
Keep it simple.
Keep it real.
Keep it mine.
I’ve Got This!
@half_full_most_days