I’m still deciding whether I’m a writer or not. Whether I can call myself a writer.

And perhaps ‘deciding’ isn’t the right word to use. I don’t think it’s a decision. It feels more like I need permission.

Can I call myself a writer if no-one reads what I write? I’m not sure. Some people will say things like, “if you write then you’re a writer”. I don’t think this is true.

But I do think it is about intention. And it’s also about connection. It’s about wanting or needing to communicate what is in a mind and what is in a heart.

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When I woke up this morning, I didn’t feel like going walking. I felt like staying in bed. But I got up, got ready to go out and bribed myself with the promise of coffee and pain au chocolat on the way home.

But when I went downstairs and opened the front door, it was raining. Just a little. So I did the only sensible thing. I went back to bed. And I wrote this piece.

Now that I’m finished writing, the rain has cleared along with my heart and I’m ready for my walk. Everything has its own time. We just need to pay a little attention.

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And have I answered my question? Am I or am I not? Have I made a decision or given myself permission? Yes, I think I have …