Dec. 03, 2001
I never understood people who were successfully and happily working in a field they loved. How did they know their calling? I certainly didn’t have that feeling of knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up, let alone find a job in it.
Before all of this I was frustrated beyond belief at what to do with work because over and over I had heard people say “do what you love to do, and figure out how to make money from it.” But I had no idea what it was that would make me happy – I only knew what made me unhappy, and that wasn’t much help.
I would read about writers and they always knew they’d write. I read about singers who always knew they’d sing. I read about photographers who were snapping pictures on their little Kodak cameras at age 6 and knew that’s what they wanted to do. Designers, graphic designers, parents, lawyers, doctors – they all seemed to know and I didn’t.
Very slowly, the idea of wanting to write came into my head. It wasn’t a bolt of lighting but just a little voice that came into my mind once in awhile. In April, it all came to a head when I got a push from an outside source and the rest is history.
One day a few months after I had begun to write full time, I went through my childhood boxes and discovered in them were countless things I had written until around age 15. There were short stories, journals, novels, poems, letters, and lots of random bits. I literally had boxes full of books of writing – writing that I had done all on my own, for fun, and just because. The one thing that struck me the most out of all my writing was that over and over in my journals were the words, “When I grow up, I am going to be a writer.”
I couldn’t believe that I was so passionate about writing and that I had declared so bravely and outloud that I would be a writer. How I forgot about such a passion and declaration I’m not sure. I can only assume that life and growing up responsible got in the way.
One thing is, I know I’m not the only one who had a dream as a child and forgot it along the way.
My husband works in a high-powered corporate tech position. Although he loves his job and his field, he began to feel there was something missing from his life because the only thing that his identity was based on was his job – and he was more than that. At the beginning of this year, he began to question himself and what he wanted, but he kept coming up short with answers. He tried to search for things he loved to do but had absolutely no clue at all. He also felt he had no time to find out. Then, one day about 4 months ago, he decided that he’d learn to play the guitar I had bought for him over a year ago. One day a week, for half an hour, he drives to a little nearby town and takes his lesson. He wasn’t sure if learning the guitar would be a good thing or not, because he was so afraid of failing at it or not liking it as much as he thought he would. But he went, each week, regardless of what the world was doing. And he began to enjoy himself and come out of his shell and release his creativity.
He found his passion.
Now he asks himself why he didn’t start years ago. But years ago it just never dawned on him that guitar and music was his passion, even though now, it seems so obvious.
Then, today, he sent me this email:
“I just remembered yesterday that when I was younger I was fascinated with electronic keyboards (musical). I got a small, cheap one when I was 9 or 10, and got a couple more over the next couple of years, of increasing size and complexity. I never learned to properly play them, I just loved messing with the effects. I also had a cheap toy drum machine with drumsticks, and also a pair of those drumsticks that you can play on anything. Even before that, I had played with recording music off the radio and making mixed tapes, messing with connecting tape recorders together and dubbing. I made up names for my “band” and constructed little cassette tape inserts with original artwork.
I totally forgot how into it I was. It culminated with a couple rap songs that I recorded onto a cassette when I was about 13, complete with keyboard drum beats and voice samples and effects, and I made up an insert for it too.
It’s weird because I was totally on the path to recording my own music and I’m not sure what happened, why I stopped. Puberty hit, and I got angsty and broody instead, or something. Ever since then I always fantasized about making music or being in a band but I never took it seriously until I started doing guitar this year. I’m still not sure I’m taking it seriously because it’s scary.
It’s just crazy because when you write about how you always loved writing and always knew that’s what you wanted to do, I envy that because I think that I’ve never really had anything like that. But maybe I kind of do and just didn’t realise it.”
That last paragraph I relate to so completely, and from the countless emails I’ve received saying the same thing, so do a lot of other people.
I think why it can be so hard for us to figure out what it is we really want to do is because we look outside ourselves for the answer. We try to emulate someone else who we think has it all together or whose career we think we could do. We try to figure out a “safe” passion or find something that we love and is “respectable” at the same time.
But if we could just look inwards, reminisce a little about the years when we didn’t care what others thought, then we would all find the answer of what we want to do. Because it’s always right there.
Nov. 18, 2001
Nervy Girl magazine contacted me a bit ago saying that they might want to run another article in their next magazine. I felt extremely excited over this for several reasons. One was because of the feedback I had received from their readers – it was very powerful to me. I heard numerous stories of women who were either going through what I was going through or from women who felt I was the push they needed to start their own adventure. The second reason I was excited was because it meant that my writing was doing something – it was out there having this life and affecting others. And that, in turn, meant I was doing something.
With two articles behind me, the possibility of a few more, I felt that I was finally getting somewhere after months of wandering. Even though I have a lot more road to travel, it seems exciting now rather than daunting.
I finally feel that I am now a writer instead of a wannabe.
I realise now that this is all happening because I’ve chosen for it to. I’ve made the effort, I’ve showed up, I’ve done the work, I made the calls. That has made me feel a sense of accomplishment like nothing else. I no longer sit and wait for someone to hand me everything. No emulating, no wishing, no trying to figure out the keys to others success because I’m working on my own.
Before all of this, I used to glaze over the thousands of books in a bookstore and scrunch my nose. “How did they get published?” I’d open up a magazine and think to myself, “I could have written better than that. How did they get in there?” Then there’d be the times where I’d see some writings of a writer I admired and think “How did they do that? I’ll never be able to do that.
Then one day, it dawned on me why the bad writers were published, why the authors in the bookstores had their books and how the good writers wrote brilliant articles. They simply did.
I realised the only difference between them and myself, was that I just thought about writing and they actually took charge and did something. So one day I stopped just thinking about writing and began writing and doing.
That was the magic. That was the secret each of those published people had. And now I knew it.
I always thought that published people had something I didn’t have and that they were in a separate league than I. But I have realised that people are people are people and those that have success have it not because of a special potion they rubbed on themselves but because they pursued something.
Nov. 16, 2001
Maybe it’s too early to tell. Maybe it’s another on of my ploys where I trick myself into thinking I’m doing good and then slack off later on. Maybe, though, this time is different.
I got up this morning and was tired and cranky from a bad sleep. I had a million thoughts running through my brain and none of them had to do with articles. I thought, ‘What do I do? How do I work, be creative, pack for the move, take care of the house, run the errands and fit eating all in twenty four hours?’ It was only 7am and already I felt overwhelmed.
Then I remembered I had prepared for this yesterday and went to the palm, flicked on its screen and there, in perfect order, was my list of to do’s. Not having to think about my day made getting on with it easier, and one by one I began to tackle each to do on my list.
Breakfast was cooked, yoga was done, tea was drunk, and being irritable was over with. The next task on my list was work. Work as work on my portfolio, work on articles, work on content, work on marketing – whatever. As long as it had to do with my career, now was the time to do it. At first, I actually resisted starting on the task of working. The strange thing was because I had it scheduled my mind changed it’s opinion about work. Even though I had worked countless hours without complaining before, now, seeing it as a task, as an appointment, my mind started to think it was just plain old work with no room for creativity. A part of me actually didn’t want to start. I actually didn’t want to go to work. There was only one thing to do about this and so I dragged myself over to the desk, sat myself in front of the computer and just began.
I started to do a little typing here and there. I started on some design work for the new sites. I started to make a list of books I needed to get and did some research on some new magazines. Before I knew progress was being made, stories were shaping up, and the portfolio was coming along slowly. Then I noticed that I was hungry and thought about lunch. But lunch is so far away, I thought. Then I looked at the clock and three hours had passed without me knowing it.
I was proud of myself to just do some work even if I didn’t feel creatively inspired in the beginning. Normally if I didn’t feel like working, I didn’t. I thought because I was the boss and without deadlines, it was OK to not work when the creativity wasn’t blooming or my brain just didn’t want to function. I realise now that even if I don’t feel creative or feel like I have the ability to write something just then, that sitting at the computer doing a little bit of work on this and that helps to get the juices flowing. Then in no time, my brain is working overtime with more ideas than I can count and I’m working like mad and actually enjoying it.
I’ve heard of countless writers’ say there are two very important things to do with regards to writing. One is to show up each day and the second is to just write and write no matter what. I did both today and I can safely say that it worked. I kicked my own arse into gear and it felt good.
Nov. 11, 2001
I’ve been keeping the creative side completely separate from the work side, I realise that now. But after thinking about it, I didn’t feel so bad because I realised that that’s just how I had grown up. That the two were separate.
As a child, you have playtime. That is different than regular classes and regular work. It’s a period that’s set aside for just pure imaginative play. As you age, that playtime becomes more limited and the worktime becomes more regular. Then in high school, you’re told to not waste time playing around, that you need to work more and think linear if you want to get anywhere in life. Then when you’re out of school, it seems that all you do is work and be responsible. When was the last time you saw a grownup playing pretend on their own that wasn’t in some institution?
So I realised today that they had just been separate entities, and that if I were in one mode, I’d fight off the other. But I can’t do that anymore, I have to blend them. Otherwise, nothing gets done.
One way I’ve done this is to schedule my arse off. This despite the fact that up until now I have never successful made a to do list and followed it. Regiments have always put me off. But I’m determined to try it this time or I’ll have all this stuff floating in my head that can overwhelm me, and then I tend to not do any of it.
I was lucky in that Chris’ work gave him a new Palm Pilot, and since he already had one he gave it to me. I spent a lot of yesterday scheduling appointments for myself and writing tasks to do. Sort of a routine of sorts.
In the mornings, I’ve scheduled my yoga, my breakfast, my reading and general laziness. Then, from 10am until 3pm I’ve scheduled work. This isn’t really too hard because this has been my routine thus far. But to see work scheduled from 10am to 3 is really good, because from that time, I can’t do the dishes, I can’t run errands, I can’t goof off. That is my time to work. Somehow seeing it, written down, just makes it more real, and I find that especially important since I am working at home where doing other things seems all to easy to do.
From 3 until 6 I have my goof time. This is cafe time, walk time, chat with friends, run errands, nap, read, whatever. That gives me permission each day to just be. Where the creative sparks can come without guilt whatsoever. This is also important, because sometimes if I’m just reading, I feel guilty. Like I should be working on my portfolio or sending out articles.
From 6pm onwards is whatever time – dinner, chores, sleep, walk, laundry, time with Chris, whatever.
I’m not sure how well this will work, to be honest. I’ve tried to make some kind of structure that will work with my personality and my way of doing things, and I think for the most part, this is pretty good. I had to do something because just being creative all day wasn’t selling anything, and just working all day to sell something wasn’t helping with my creativity.
At least now when people ask me to do things I have to think twice. I might just have to say, “I can’t make it this time, I’m working.” To which they might reply, “But I thought you worked from home and you can do anything, anytime?” “Not today,” I’ll say, “I have an appointment.”
Oct. 27, 2001
If I wait for things to calm down a bit so that I can catch my breath, I realise that I will be waiting quite some time. Life doesn’t stop for anyone, especially for me and especially right now.
That’s not a negative thing however. I’m currently riding an energy and creative high and I feel like I’ve got to just go with it for fear of losing all the momentum. After all the months of the ups and downs I have realised that a creative life is just that. One minute you’ll be creating like a mad man and the next you’ll be wallowing in self pity, complaining how you have not even one brilliant or creative idea at all. It’s a cycle, it’s life.
So now I am working on a million different ideas and trying hard to focus in on just a couple. I think that’s a problem with creativity is that when you’re on such a high, your mind works overtime and brain begins to create so many ideas. So many that it is almost impossible to do them all. That can lead to a bad situation if you’re not careful because you don’t want to start to think that you’re not doing all that you could do, or that every idea is on the same level of importance. For me, I’ve had to learn how to weed through them all and to learn how to decide what I can do now, what I can do later, and what I won’t be able to do at all.
I think that kind of thinking is vital especially when there are so many options and ideas floating around in your brain. Focus and attention are critical and unfortunately, they are also my weak areas. Aren’t free sprits meant to be free and not contemplating using a palm pilot?
But I realise for my sanity, for the work, for actually getting paid, that I have to organise, focus and create.
Therefor, I’ve decided I need to write my goals for the next couple of months. I’m debating at this point if I should have a deadline or daily goals or word count. Maybe that will feel like pressure so perhaps I’ll wade into this slowly and just write them down first.
So, my goals over the next month are as follows:
- Really make some headway on my portfolio – including showcasing my published works, unpublished works, photography, and art.
- To rework my travel writings and get the travel site up and running.
- Start my other site which will be a component of girlatplay.com which will feature other women like myself and spread the word that living a dream really is possible.
- And last but not least, continue to work on my magazine articles and hopefully make my first sale.
That’s not a small plate I realise. And perhaps I’m being overly ambitious. Time will tell. The strange thing about this, is that for the first time I’m not afraid to begin. I actually feel ready.
Oct. 25, 2001
From April to September I had enjoyed perfect health. I was wide eyed and bushy tailed. I giggled, I smiled, I contemplated, I was quiet, I was content, I was happy – all this despite small bouts of worry, confusion and frustration. Living as I wanted, as a writer, made me feel true to who I was and somehow, this kept me well.
But the last few I had begun to feel quite ill – almost like I had back in April before I realised I needed to quit my job. I was tired, rundown, and my throat was sore. I coughed, I sneezed, I ached. I was mentally fogged in. I was slow. I was doing less than I had as a full time writer yet I had less energy.
What had changed was that a couple of weeks ago, I had taken on a job two days a week at a local spa. I had done this because it was a place I went to and they asked me if I’d like to work the front. I thought this might be a good idea to get me out of the house as I was going a bit stir crazy and also a good way to get a massage. Yet, it turned out for me to be a bad decision; I didn’t enjoy it, the atmosphere was bitchy, the work wasn’t anything remotely interesting and the free massages necer came.
The days I’d go to that job people would tell me that I didn’t look well – my eyes showed it. My heart, felt it. Maybe I was coming down with something, I thought. The problem is I never got full blown sick, I just had these small symptoms everywhere.
So only after a couple of weeks, I quit. Since then, something quite amazing has happened.
I’ve been feeling fantastic. This despite nothing but cold weather, hard rain, and terribly foggy nights. I’ve felt alive and energetic. I’ve been on a whirlwind of creative work, bundling ideas, reading, playing, learning, and basically just doing things that pertain to my passion of writing and art.
My diet hadn’t changed, I hadn’t taken any medicine, the weather certainly wasn’t in my favour, but I was no longer sick. I was no longer in the mode of coming down with something.
I didn’t really make the connection until I read a passage in the book, If you want to Write from 1938. In it, the author Brenda Ueland wrote this about her friend:
I know of a very great woman who makes her living by teaching violin lessons in the daytime… Then from midnight until five o’clock in the morning, she is happy because she can work on her book… The book is her life work….
…”One day she came to me and had a very bad cold. “Oh, lie down quick! I exclaimed, “and I will get you some hot lemonade and put a shawl over yourself.”
She opened her eyes wide at me, and said almost with horror in her voice.
“Oh, that is no way to treat a cold!… No, I slumped a little yesterday and so I caught it. But I worked all night and it is much, much better now.”
The point of that passage is that when you put your energy into what you love to do, your body reacts, sort of a mind over matter type of thing. You are happy, you are content, the energy feeds your body, you heal. When you do something you don’t like to do, you have those aches and pains that have no name and are only cured by stopping the work that you hate.
Although I have been frustrated and almost angry with myself for taking up temporary office job work (despite the fact I had good intentions. 1. To keep me around others and keep me social 2. To help me save for an ibook for my writing) it really taught me a lesson. That is, that I am nothing more than a writer and I can’t pretend to be anything else, no matter how small the scale of pretending might seem. And that if I do what I love to do, I am alive and there is no exception whatsoever.
Writing might bring me confusion, fear, a sense of being overwhelmed, perhaps disappointment but it never makes me ill, it never makes me sad and it never makes me feel less than. It just makes me feel real.