Capable.

I carved my first, and second pumpkin ever yesterday, in tandem, having never carved a pumpkin before I was in deeper than I had bargained for.  I took the boys to a carving craft event and, of course, I didn’t really think that I would be doing most of the carving.  During the course of the carving they helped me find the right tools and helped too. It was not as hard as I thought it was going to be.  There are so many things in life that we don’t attempt or do because we are afraid that, for whatever reason, we are not capable.

I know I can’t sing.  I used to mouth the words in elementary school during choir.  I was afraid that I sounded terrible and might just ruin it for everyone if I was to let out the squawk that my singing voice was and still is.  I could probably though, with a voice coach and some training passably move through a karaoke session and impress a small audience of undiscerning listeners with my learned voice.

We can, if we really want to, become better at something; we just have to know that the door is open for us if we really want it to be open.  We can’t be afraid.  I remember graduating high school and moving straight into university.  I quit rather quickly, but I didn’t quit with grace I just stopped going and eventually when I went back and finished, bringing my GPA up was a herculean effort because of the poor grades I had let myself get.  I dropped one political science class because I was petrified to do a ten page paper.  I had never done a ten page paper and didn’t even know where to start or how to ask for help.  I didn’t admit I was afraid.  My professor did not want me to quit the class; he thought I had some promise.  I did quit but eventually I went back, by the end of my final semester before graduating I was taking five courses and working three jobs while whipping out 20 page papers.  I overdid it, as I usually do, but I was determined near the end not to be hungry and to get my degree.

And I discovered something spectacular after finally going back and finishing, I was really great at English Lit courses and I really liked them.  I had always loved to read, you would find me buried in a book while walking home from school- and sometimes into a tree- you would find me buried in a book at a sleepover- in effect keeping me away from the scary world of girls socializing- and you would find me buried in a book before I went to bed.  I loved to read and eventually I loved to write.  I started writing poetry in grade seven, that year, on the same stage where I had mouthed the words to many a choir song I stood up and read my poem to an audience of parents and fellow classmates.  Only one person was chosen to read their poem and that was me.

At this point, a career in writing and English would seem a no brainer to most.  I have a thick head and it took to many years, some dark and some light, to finally come to the place that I have today.  I have my degree in English- recently found and dusted off-and next to it I have my first published piece of work – an essay from 2011 in the Globe and Mail.  It took me too many years but I am less afraid, of being the writer I am supposed to be.  I am working on a book and early on I almost stopped because I thought, “Who do I think I am, do I think I can write a book?  I’ve never written a book.  I can’t do it.” I just about shelved the whole thing when a tiny little voice from inside of me that was quite persistent, said “You can do it.”  I’ve got two carved pumpkins and two happy boys to prove that when you dive in and just do something, as long as you have the right tools and the right encouragement, you can do it.

My guys hard at work.