Sometimes, even when I don't feel like writing, and I do write, I am thankful. Like yesterday. Yesterday I got the whole business out of the way early...before getting out of bed even. And then I promptly forgot about it. I let the entire business drop out of my mind, like yesterday's dreams.
Right around 11:15 pm or so, after a very generous glass of wine, I panicked...had I written??? Indeed, I had. Thank God. The streak was maintained at least for one more day.
So when I considered a few minutes ago whether to buy yet ANOTHER book on Amazon, I paused. Where was the book I have been threatening to write all these years? It's still stuck inside me, in large part because I haven't yet made writing as regular a habit as I would have liked. It's definitely not a habit on the weekends where if I don't get the blame thing in the can by mid-morning, I hit the danger zone. I'm lucky right now because I'm home alone and can give some careful thought to what I'm doing. If I had gone on that hike, I'm damn sure I would not have remembered to pay attention to the voice inside my brain that said...psssst....write!
Presently, I find myself drawn to stories where people just quit the "real world" and go out on their own wits and try to make a go of it. "The Feast Nearby" is the latest to come to my attention...of a woman who is reduced through unemployment and divorce to very modest circumstances. I wryly note here that these are not circumstances that she thrust herself into...they were thrust upon her so she had to adapt. I seem to want on some shameful level similarly difficult circumstances (not divorce!!!) to cast me away from work and into a creative frenzy...a justifyingly, clarifying wind that would right my ship of potential...steering me away from what has monopolized my time toward what could earn me a frugal yet satisfying living. Why do I think shock and awe have a place here? We tend not to want to push our fate one way or the other. Because if we direct our fate, what happens if we fail? It's all our failure.
In truth, it's all our failure no matter what-- but we do love our scape goats. So what if I just work hard at this writing, aware that there's no future in it. Aware that I will have to work harder than I have on anything. Aware that to become a life coach or technical writer or web designer are not easy jobs, a lot less easy than the life I have now. And what if I actually HATE the new life I craft for myself? I won't have the solace of retirement. I'll have to work...I'll have to boss myself into working until deep into my 60's or 70's even. Is that the life that I want?
It doesn't sound appealing.
Then I consider...is that really the way it has to go? Can't there be any happy endings for rigorously pursuing a wish? Or is that just my own Neptunian Pollyanna believing that things work out for those who doggedly follow what they believe is their destiny? To be perfectly frank, sometimes, things do no work out. Sometimes things just are. So. That leaves me in place, where I am since at least where I am I make enough money to go out to the bar, buy tacos and shop for the occasional heavily discounted designer piece of clothing. It also allows me the luxury of electronic goods and Amazon.
Really, what AM I complaining about? (Insert grumbly sound here).
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All I can say is Thank Goddess for my squirrelly Neptune in the sixth house of daily tasks. My Neptune sees the pain in people and figures out how to ease suffering. People like it when you make them feel good...and much of what I have done over the years is gently help people tune their vibe. At times, it's even felt like a calling. But even a good vibe tuner (and I have to say in my day, I've had scores of poor souls waiting for a compassionate assist outside my cube) has to do at least one or two of the things listed on their actual job description. Did I mention that I hate my actual job description?
Ugh.
Therapist Oversoul here...
Here is some advice for you little girl. Put something out into the world. Anything. Really. Because even if you put out shit today, chances are you'll put out a little less shit tomorrow or the next day or the next week.
If you only write here, you will have less angst yes...your emails will continue to become wonderfully pithy and astute. Works of private freaking literary art. But you will never achieve anything that is sampled by a wider audience.
If you write here and you start posting actual words on a public website and use your own name (I really don't care which website), you will feel completely naked...at first. But in time that feeling of nakedness will diminish though never entirely dissipate. You will build for yourself a kind of new identity, borne of habit and the rarefied voice resident in your head. Many will like it though some may not. Never mind. It is what it is.
And if you do what is in the last paragraph above plus start to craft essays and send them to other less secure destinations like a publisher's desk, you may in 10 or 12 years have the escape you seek...that is, the financial wherewithal of your pension (limited as it may be after the legislative onslaught) plus the intellectual satisfaction of knowing that you put in the hard work of writing consistently for a population (no matter how minute) who know you...your literary persona you and appreciates that time tested and well-crated identity.
And there it is. That's all. That's it. End of story. Enjoy what is left because you know? There are no promises.
