Living My Book

I used to want to be someone. I wanted to be a writer.  I even considered myself a writer for a while.  I wanted to leave my mark and be remembered in this life as somebody.  Isn't that at the crux of human existence?  In the end we want to be remembered?  Do something noteworthy?  Something of significance?

The past few months have been full.  I've experienced the highs and lows of life.  In a recap, in May Air Force man separated from the military and moved back home to continue schooling full time, we put our sweet dog to sleep after twelve years and only six days before Miguel came home from his mission.  In June, Miguel returned from his mission in Georgia and still wishes he could return.  In July we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with all our kids at the "Happiest Place on Earth".  Then two weeks later I was a camp counselor at a girls camp.  I returned home to a job that went from part time to full time.  Life is full, life is busy.

I've come to realize that my mark isn't set by the words I write, the creative ideas I come up with, the link ups I participate in or the guest posts...no my mark is made by the time I spend with my family.  The living I do within the walls of my home and outside of it.  I will write the words of my book in my actions.  Not everyone can be a Jane Austen or Emily Bronte.  But, I can be me.  I can live my book as Lisa.  And you know what?  I can't put it down.

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