I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately.
Maybe it’s because I’m getting closer to 50 and realizing there may be more years behind me than in front of me. Maybe it’s because I’m splitting my time between two cities, building a new life and doing work I care about in Nashville while still coming home to Atlanta, taking care of my mom, and being present for my adult children and the people I love.
There’s a lot I want to do, a lot I’m responsible for, and a lot I don’t want to miss.
So I’ve been thinking about what deserves more of my time now. What I keep pushing off because I assume I’ll get to it later. How I can stay present in the life I’m living while still creating the life I want next.
That’s one of the reasons I write.
When something keeps taking up space in my mind, writing helps me slow down and figure out what I actually think about it. I can start with a question, a feeling, or something I’ve noticed and follow it without knowing where it’s going to lead.
Sometimes it becomes a podcast episode, like my recent thoughts about time. Sometimes it becomes something I share here. Sometimes it stays in my journal because I’m still working through it.
The outcome isn’t always the point. The practice of writing helps me hear myself more clearly.
And that matters when you’re trying to find your voice.
We often think finding our voice begins when we’re ready to speak, post, present, or put an idea in front of other people. But your voice starts taking shape much earlier than that. It develops while you’re paying attention to what keeps pulling at you, asking yourself why it matters, and giving yourself room to explore what you really believe.
The more you write, the more you begin to notice your patterns.
The questions you keep asking. The ideas you keep returning to. The connections you make that someone else might not. The words that feel natural to you instead of borrowed from someone else.
That’s where your point of view begins to emerge.
And your point of view is at the heart of your voice.
