Monday, July 25, 2011
I have been lamenting the fact that I just just can't get my writing schedule together. I complained about the time I spend with the kids, the volunteer work that I do at the schools, the cooking, the cleaning and all sorts of yikkity yak. My laments have made their way into my blogs, my conversations and most importantly my moods. Whenever I thought about writing I fell into a temporary depression.
However, last week I intentionally stated thinking about my writing dilemma - I mean really thinking. Digging deeper than my emotions and allowing the truth to rise to the surface. The real deal is this: I was not lamenting my lack of time. No matter how much I tried to tell myself being too busy was my issue. I was mourning the death of my disciplined writer self from year 2010. I was nostalgic about writing every morning and blogging and working on my projects at night. I was grieving the loss of my getting "it" done year. I blamed the demise of my writing to my bout of pneumonia in early December. I designated myself as the victim of time lost due to sickness and recovery.
My lost discipline had much more to do than sickness and time. My life changed. Circumstances were no longer as they were in 2010. My kids got bigger - and so did my mommy life and mommy obligations. I told myself to "Get over it and do whatcha gotta go!"
So last week, I did the miraculous. I stopped the internal yikkity yakking and paralyzing thoughts about the good ole days of last year. I released myself from the expectations I had for this year. I allowed my ties to the past and my ideal picture of writing perfection go. I GOT OVER IT! I have stopped crying the "not enough time" blues. Well, for now. (Smile)
It's true - I don't have a lot of time unless I run myself to the bone. I don't have an attractive writing environment that is both private and inspiring. My computer is crap. I don't have a cozy sweater that I wrap myself in as I perfect my craft. It is all MUCH less than perfect.
Still, I woke up one morning, grabbed a notebook and pen and started writing. No computer, no inspiring space, no good luck writing outfit. And the time issue, please... I wrote between baths and breakfast. I wrote between checking summer homework and whipping up tortellini for lunch. I wrote between tears, arguments and the occasionally poopy pair of undies. No matter whether bad or good - I wrote. I got over myself and I put pen to paper the best way I could given the circumstances that presented themselves. It reminded my of how Stephen King sneaked off to a laundry room or pantry, sat in a corner with some sort of kiddie desk perched on his legs and wrote Carrie. The bottom line is if there is something in you - its gotta come out - or you will die inside.
You know my mission in my personal life is to Kill Superwoman. Let me clarify that it isn't because I personally don't want to be super. I want to be a super mom, super wife and super writer. But I have to kill this idea of perfection. Unlike this false superwoman in my head - I do not have perfect strength and stamina. I do not save the day and rise to hero(ine) ism in every situation. On a regular day there are no accolades with accompanying back slaps that signify "job well done Superwoman!" I have to kill that which insists that everything has to be "just so" in order for me to produce. I can move toward my idea of "just so." But until I get there - I have to do what I gotta do, the way I can do it in the NOW.
That means that I have to let go of the ideal past that paralyses me in my "now" moments. I have to get over whatever jumps in my way in order to keep moving. So what it may not always look like I want, feel like I want or inspire me the way I want. . When a circumstance jumps in your way , just get over it the best way you can and do it. One of the things I say all the time in my presentations and speaking is - "It is what it is - while it is." Everyday is an opportunity for me to make sure those circumstance, those "its" of my life do not stop me from being who I was created to be.