So I decided that when you panic over Christmas, panic over starting a new portfolio, are stressed out over looking for a new full-time job and your best friend tells you she’s getting a divorce and moving out-of-state, it’s not a great time to make any major changes.
For me, a major change included the brilliant idea that I was not going to write at Happily Ticked Off anymore. I wasn’t going to write about Tourettes and certainly wasn’t going to write about anything too personal anymore.
This was a particularly stupid idea, given that I have an entire book completed on the subject of tics. My brain? “No agent is interested… it likely isn’t as good as I thought… I over shared… oh well.” The reality: Three really big agents responded. They loved the concept, but it’s too niche. Here’s a new concept: KEEP GOING.
Here’s the other brilliant idea. I decided to hire someone to build a fancy new portfolio to show off my work. I mean, how can I get a decent writing job that doesn’t involve me commuting hours per day for a crap company that doesn’t know it’s head from its butt (not that I’ve done that recently) if no one even knows I exist? I figured this website would also house my blog. It would be kind of this “Check out my samples/hire me/take writing classes/check out my latest interviews and resume” smorgasbord.
And then I got super sad.
Like an all-you-can eat buffet, I felt sick. I felt uncomfortable.
And here’s why. It’s not because I am afraid of change. (Though of course I am.) And it’s not because I don’t want a fabulous new job. (Of course I do.)
It’s because, deep inside, it felt like just one more aspect my life I was “doing” rather than “creating.” Aren’t there enough things we have to do each day? I mean, those kids need a packed lunch for school every day. EVERY DAY. Shouldn’t there be an aspect of my life that is just what I want? A place for me to connect to others who are hurting? A place for me to go to when I’m hurting? I place to laugh and be myself?
This whole works-based activity deal has to stop. I’m ready to be a human being, not a human doer.
How many more nights am I going to sit side by side at my ugly Ikea desk with my husband – him checking work servers and me searching Facebook for people with more exciting lives than me – and wonder why I feel so empty? It’s dawning on me that this whole “striving striving striving” thing to land a job be efficient so I can prove my time is worth something is for the birds. Yes, I need to work to pay a little something called my mortgage. But I can either show up to life tired and angry and resentful at what other people are accomplishing or I can decide who I am is valuable enough to accomplish my own unique purpose.
Like tics, there are a lot of unknowns out there for me. That’s friggin’ scary because, well, I like control. But if I’m going to accept life on life’s terms, I have to let a little bit of my expectations go and enjoy the ride. Hmmmm… what could that look like? I have no idea, but it’s certainly not going to be to prove my worth to someone else. Apparently I’m worth something as me and me alone. That’s the starting point. (Hint, so are you!)
I spoke to Stink about my decision to come back home. His jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe I had left in the first place. “But Mama, what about all my fans??? You have to go back!” he balked.
To all six of you, my narcissist gives you his love.
I’ll see you tomorrow. But be warned, I’m assigning homework.