I have just spent a lovely few hours this afternoon with my friend A-mother-of-N, and little N.  They live on the opposite side of London so we catch up on alternate ‘sides’ once every couple of months or so.  Anyway, we were chatting today about how much life has changed for us both, particularly for me in the last 9 months, the challenges we have faced and the little victories we’ve celebrated.

One of the things we spoke about was my writing.  I will have been writing my blog for 3 years next month but it’s only been in the last 9 months, I’ve started to consider where it all might lead.  I’ve ‘guest-posted’ a couple of times and been acknowledged by generous fellow bloggers (you know who you are – and for everyone else, you can find them on my blog roll) but am now starting to get encouragement from outside the blogosphere with family and friends commenting ‘how well I write’.

Recently I started writing for weekendnotes, my first ‘paid’ gig depending on how many articles I submit and how many subscribers and page views I get.  I have just submitted my second article for publishing today. (My first, about my visit to the Museum of Brands, Packaging and Advertising, which I have also blogged about, was published last Monday.)  I love London. I love writing.  It seems a match made in Heaven.

But I feel…hesitant. 

You see, I am completely besotted with writing.  Even more so than when I was in high school (high school, not secondary – now that ages me!).  Some days I write what I see, hear, experience in the small things.  Other days it just seems that I can’t help but put my heart on the page.  It’s a joyful feeling, sometimes emotional, but always satisfying.  An expression of my creativity and passion that feels both cathartic and right in its current proportion.  

And that’s the thing – the balance.  I also love my work.  It’s commercial and fast-paced and dynamic and I’m part of a team – and it’s a big part of me as well.  And right now, the two things together feel balanced and right.  Yet I can’t help asking myself, could I still do both if I wrote more?  Could I keep managing the balance or would there come a tipping point, where the single, albeit dual purpose, path may naturally divide and I find myself standing at a fork in the road?

One of my favourite poem’s of all time is The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.  There’s a line in it ‘yet knowing how way leads on to way’.  I feel like that now.  I am desperate not to lose the joy I have rediscovered in writing but suspect that life will take me down the road that it will. 

I will just have to be brave enough to keep my heart and mind open to whatever happens next.