Coming Clean

I’ve been using the excuse of working to not write daily.

“Oh, I’m too tired when I get home to even turn the computer on.”

“My computer is so slow, it’s not worth turning it on during the week.”

Truth is, those are just excuses.  I got stuck on an article for a client, and have been using work, the holidays, etc. as excuses to not just do it.

And it has been bothering me.  A lot.  Especially recently.  I tell people I made the commitment to write every day, but then I got a part-time job I love and stopped.

But I find I keep telling stories.  I’m just not writing them down any more.  Or, writing them here anymore.

I don’t really know what I’m hiding from aside from the fact I am stuck on an approach for this article.  My client has been very understanding.  She’s happy I’m working again with steady money at a place, and with people, I adore.  Truth be told, I feel like I’ve let her down.  I haven’t told her I can’t figure out an approach to the article she wants.

The holidays are always a mess.  They’re a really handy excuse to not do anything except be depressed and feel sorry for myself.  Except that’s not working anymore either.

Thanksgiving was a mess.  A literal mess because while attempting to fix the toilet, it overflowed.  Yuck was all over the floor.  I threw my hands up, threw some towels down and walked away for the night.

Christmas was better somewhat.  New Year’s was its usually noisy self with fireworks all around me.  Living in a Mexican neighborhood, which is also not far from a Vietnamese neighborhood, makes any holiday noisy with fireworks.  Fire crackers go off at all hours of the day.

After the debacle a year ago with the roof leaking, and the ensuing repair, the roof started leaking again.  My home doesn’t feel like home.  There are buckets and towels on the floor, tarps on the roof, and plastic over some of my shelves.  Especially the books.

Things kinda went sideways a little at work.  Just a tiny bit, but I was convinced I was about to lose my job.  How could I be expected to come home and write under any of those circumstances?

Books pile up after I read them, waiting for me to review them.  Once I get caught up, I promise I’ll review each one after I’ve read it.  But it doesn’t happen.

I know this is not unusual behavior for anyone, most especially creative people.  We live in our heads a lot.  We lead with our hearts.  We feel big, and we take everything seriously.  At least I do.  From what I know of other writers, I suspect this is true for them too.

I’ve known for several months that I was at what’s called an inflection point.  In business it means, “a time of significant change in a situation; a turning point.”  I can feel the changes.  Actually see things are going in a different, better direction for me.

This came home to me last Friday when something happened which was incredible to me.  Something I never expected to happen.  Something I wasn’t even looking for.  I had a date.

It went well.  I enjoyed myself very much.  I like to think he did too.  We talked, sharing horrible landlord stories.  Somehow, my writing came up.  And I realized that while I wasn’t exactly lying to him about having made the commitment to write every day, I hadn’t told him that book reviews were mostly what I wrote.  And not every day.

I’ve been very emotional for the past few days.  I suppose it’s normal dating roller coaster riding.  “Will he call me again?”  “Will we really go out again?”  All that sort of stuff.

Let me be clear.  I’ve had relationships in the past.  None of them worked for various reasons.  Mostly because of me seeking fulfillment from them, and attracting men who didn’t deserve my time.  And giving it to them.  Not all of them, mind you.  But most of them.

Since the last one, I’ve spent a great deal of time and effort working on myself.  Becoming comfortable in my own skin, loving me, loving who I am, learning to take care of me.  And, most importantly, finding fulfillment from within.

Last August, I knew I was there because I walked in like the badass I know I am.  Things have been wobbly from time to time, but overall I am pleased with my work and attitude.  And so are people who have the influence to hire me when the time comes.

It was the same way when I met my date.  I was just being me.  Snarky, sarcastic, book in my hand me.  And, things went from flirting to my inviting him to dinner.  To us actually going to dinner and sitting and talking.  It was fun.

But, as with all change, things are unnerving.  I’ve been thinking about my writing more, and thinking about keeping true to myself in the throes of all this change.  The weekend wasn’t easy for me.  I could feel change, and I haven’t been handling it with as much grace and aplomb as I wanted.

Several things have come out of this.  One of which is my writing.  At least two different people have told me that to not write would be false to myself.  It’s my heart and soul.  Aside from loving the job, and the (not enough) steady money, I need to write.  And I keep denying myself that.

I’m not openly declaring a re-commitment.  But I am openly declaring an attempt for every day.  Because, apparently now, more than ever, I really need to write.

print