I recently cleaned out my office. I really should do it more frequently, say at least every decade. My car was filled with ancient tax returns and attached receipts, headed for the shredder along with a lifetime of insurance forms.

The exercise did yield some positives beyond a much-needed de-cluttering my office. I found numerous long-forgotten correspondences, relics of a time when we necessarily typed or printed or hand-wrote such things. One interesting scrap I unearthed was a small square of paper, one side red, the other white, on which I had written my responses to the question: what one thing are you passionate about doing in your life and why? 

I recall the moment: one of those corporate team-building/culture transforming sessions led by energetic and highly compensated facilitators. The setting was the US Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs. The time was about a decade ago, as we were preparing for the 2008 Beijing Games.

A photo of my actual response is displayed below. In the likely case that my handwriting is not easily intelligible, here is what I wrote:

          My passion = writing.

Why? 

     I need to write
     I have stories to tell
     I’m a preacher without a pulpit
     I can--it’s one thing I’m pretty good at
     I think I can say things that will positively impact people

In reflecting upon this, it surprises me that I felt the same passion to pursue writing seriously more than 10 years ago as I do today? Why did it take me so many years to scratch that chronic itch?

I would respond to the question much the same if asked today. I feel a compulsion to write. I believe I have something to say, stories that will interest others. I think that writing and putting the product of my effort out there for others to consider could have a positive impact, not in the “make this a better world” sense, but by causing readers to consider new points of view and questioning their existing precepts.

Today I would not make the claim that I am “pretty good” at writing. Perhaps back then I intended to say this with a hint of self-deprecation—as in “writing is one of the few things I’m any good at.” In any case, I have learned through my experience writing over the past three years that the learning curve is steeper than I had expected. I would say now instead that I am off to a decent start, but with lots of room for improvement. My growing file of rejections from literary agents is evidence of that.