I’ve always been something of a loner, which is why it’s so hard for me to be an author. Maybe God does this sort of thing on purpose – forces wallflowers into the spotlight. I don’t know.

I first noticed a problem when my husband proudly displayed my first (autobiographical) magazine article to our friends in church. Never mind that the piece was published across the nation. That was different. I shrank into myself.

Lately, I’ve been reading The Story of With by Arnold Allen. I am a Christian, and so I value anything that draws me closer to God. Allen’s story does just that as it teaches me to walk with God instead of relying on my own strength. Lately, I’ve noticed that being with God requires me to join with others.

Here’s the truth. I’ve suffered failure, disappointment, and sorrow in relationships. It’s plain easier to rely upon myself. That isn’t the best, though. It doesn’t allow for the depths of passionate living that I want to embrace. Therefore (ahem) I’m set to do better.

I’ve joined forces with other like-minded authors in a writing mastermind group. It’s lovely to know that others care about my success. I’m reaching out to my family more and also to friends. This is only the start.

Yes, I’m opening myself up to being hurt again, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. The other option is to go through only half alive. No thank you. I am reminded, yet again, of a poem that has played a powerful part in my life. I’ve added it, below, in case you also need to read it as a cautionary tale.

George Gray

By Edgar Lee Masters

I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me–
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire–
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.