I am a writer! There, I said it. I am a writer! How do I know? Where did I get my credentials? From which institution did I obtain my certification? Who gave me the right to lay claim to the title? All valid questions that I will address in due time.

I am a writer. It’s early in the morning, my hands stiff from Parkinson’s yet here I am writing. Not because I have emails to respond to from being out of the office, which I do because I was. This morning I am awake because I have an unresolved question that is running through my mind that I must lay to rest. Until it is, I cannot. And what is the prevalent thought that keeps me awake; Am I still an accountant, or am I now a writer?

I am a writer. How do I know? I have business cards that depict a colorful logo and my name imprinted in a bright, eye-catching font. Under the name, the word Writer; certainly it represents indisputable evidence.

I am a writer! Should I announce what others tell me is apparent? Shouldn’t I just wait for someone to tell me that I am a writer? But from whom would I accept the ordination, from whom would I receive the title? Is it the attorney down the street, that sales executive around the corner; the nurse that takes my vitals or the pastor that feeds me the Word? Who is suitable for such an elusive and ambiguous task?

I am a writer. Do I have to register my credentials with some bureaucratic quasi-government agency that exists to suck the life blood out of all those within reach? Do I have to obtain a license similar to the barber who cuts my hair? Will I be issued a tag with a number as if I am a golden retriever?

I am a writer. At this early hour, you will not find me calling Jake at State Farm to get a price on car insurance, or pouring over a Hooter’s menu trying to decide what sauce to get with my order of wings, or researching another firearm that I NEED to add to my collection. Scratch that last one. Just a blank page, a dark living room, and ideas that must be expressed in words that others may, or may not, choose to read.

I am a writer! My thoughts must be captured and recorded in some form or another. But why? I have no audience in mind, no deadline to meet, and no check to cash; I am free to write about whatever I deem worthy. For those pieces that are not, their lives are short lived. But those that are, I will share them on a suitable platform to a gracious audience.

I am a writer. Now and then rare gems roll off my finger tips that are mine and mine alone expressing emotions in the rawest form about a time or place that rocked my world. I hold on to these tightly, hide them away like that bottle of Johnny Walker Double Black. Only recently have I begun to release them to a chosen few, allowing them to peek behind the curtain of my public persona.

I am a writer. Encouragement and affirmation that I receive from others validate that I have a gift, one that I rarely acknowledge in myself. In an exchange with a fellow traveler, someone I had only recently met, said, “I didn’t know you were a writer!” My response caught him off guard, ” No, I am an accountant.” To which he replied, “No, I think you’re are a writer. Are you any good at accounting?”

I am a writer. Not one by choice but by grace. I have been given a gift, and gifts are just that — something freely given to the undeserving — to communicate a message to someone, who I may or may not know, needs to hear.

I am a writer. Do I dare call myself a writer if I am still in need of a day job or do I stick with the security of calling myself an accountant with a hobby? Both labels motivate me to get out of bed each day, but only one will entice to make my mark on the world every day.

I will now add writer to the list of adjectives that I use to describe myself. I am an accountant by vocation, an entrepreneur and writer at heart, that still thinks of himself as a 35-year old construction worker. Confused? Welcome to my world. I think I will just shorten it up.

I am a writer.