So, remember that writing class I was talking about a few days ago?
The one I was so excited about?
The one that was gonna launch me back into writing For Real This Time after so many false starts?
Yeah. About that.
I’m struggling. Mightily.
Not because a lack of interest or motivation or desire for self-discovery.
Not because I have nothing to write or talk about.
Mostly because I chose to start a deeply introspective writing class right at the same time two kids were graduating and getting ready for the next chapter of their grown-up lives and the week before I start the next big step of my career after two chaotic years of barely making ends meet.
And we had a death in the family and there’s somewhat of a crisis in our extended family and John has started sleepwalking this week (which means I’m sleepwalking all day) and I’ve nearly missed two lessons because we’re preparing for 30 or so people to cheerfully descend on our house later today to celebrate said graduations.
AND THEN today’s (ok, fine – yesterday’s) photo prompt came up:
What if this isn’t the right time?
Even scarier, what if there isn’t a right time? Like at all?
What if the universe is throwing up all these roadblocks and time-sucks because it really wants to tell me that I’m not good at this? That yes, this metaphorical dress does make me look metaphorically fat?
What if the words flowing out of my fingers just aren’t that great? I haven’t shared the last two lessons: one was deeply personal, the other was just a spectacular wet fart of a misfire because I was trying to write in a crowded dealership waiting room while my car was being serviced. As one does.
Should I come back to this later?
Should I switch gears and get back to my children’s book manuscript?
Should I pile up my laptop and notebooks and writing implements on the kitchen table and set everything on fire?
I mean, that would definitely also address the “what-possessed-us-to-buy-this-fixer-upper” problem, so now I’m killing two birds with one stone.
Maybe I should take a deep breath and remind myself that I a l w a y s have 28732475723491231 things going on at once because I have four kids and a marriage and a full-time career and a darling-yet-ramshackle house that is falling down around us, and this incredibly happy and fulfilling life that I’ve fought like hell to build is just REALLY BUSY right now.
Maybe I should also remind myself that I have, like, no fewer than 30 to 50 drafts of really good work hiding out all over social media and my laptop and in notebooks that just need to be reexamined and polished into something, which is why I took this class in the first place.
Maybe I should tell myself that I wasn’t kidding when I admitted at the beginning of this class that I give in too easily to self-doubt.
And while I’m at it, maybe I give myself some real talk that this is probably just adrenaline talking – the nervous chatter and clanging alarm bells of my lesser, mean-girl brain trying to talk me out of this – and that I didn’t do all this hard work of recovery to listen to mean girls and their self-indulgent drama.
So let’s get that second cup of coffee and get back to work.
Day Five is coming.