Always want to be a writer?

I didn’t always want to be a writer. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I was a child but being a writer wasn’t something that came to mind. That came later. That came much later after I left high school and I wrote in journals to vent frustration. When my notebook was open I had something to say about the sorrows and joys I was experiencing. It didn’t matter that no one would read them, they were mine and that was just fine with me. I sit here and wonder what changed that those simple words I wrote to myself became something I wanted to share. Was it a single moment where I thought my words mattered and I wanted to write for a living; letting the world know my words and tell them it mattered? I think it came over a series of moments. Periods in my life where all I had were the words I wrote on cheap notebooks and pretty journals. Periods where the love I had in those pages transformed into something great and passionate; something that I slowly saw that could be used and not suppressed in books collecting dust. I still have all those notebooks but I cannot reach them, they sit in the attic of my father’s house and truthfully, I miss them. To look back on them, see how I have changed and how my writing has changed. I might ask him to send them to me. Maybe I don’t need them any more as I have grown into something better than I thought I would be back then. The notebooks I do have with me I rarely look at; only on occasion to look back on a particular moment for writing or because a conversation brought that subject up. Should I look back? So many questions I ask myself and often I find the answers but in places I didn’t think to look at first. They can come from me in time but they also come from those I love and still they come from places I never looked at before. Given the opportunity to write for someone I now know I want to do. I am a writer; I just never expected to get the opportunity. I applied to write for a company, submitted works of my own to show my ability and didn’t think much on it after. I submitted it and was done. I didn’t dwell too much; I didn’t even tell my partner until I got the acceptance letter. Shows how much I thought about it I guess. I was accepted! Someone thought the samples I sent were good enough to take a chance on me and the words I had to say. That feeling is irreplaceable and indescribable. The opportunity is something I can grow from. Does the person who accepted me realize the gift they have given me? Maybe not but I am eternally grateful to them. I am a writer and someone saw that. There is something else. I was given a gift certificate from the company I write for. It was a contest I wasn’t aware of and I won. It was on using a particular tool we can use to promote ourselves and the company. I apparently used it and was successful in it enough to be given this. So I bought two writing books with it to better my writing skills. If I can use those books bought by them to better my writing for me as well as the company I write for then that’s what I should use it for. And all this is for a girl who never thought to be a writer when she was a child? For someone who uses words daily, I haven’t the words to express what all this feels like, what all this means to me.