I have a lot going on right now. There’s the book, Naked (In Italy), a dog, a baby, writing jobs, and sometimes I have to sort of clean my house. Sort of. So much shit. Literally, with a dog and a baby my life is mostly covered in some form of doody…please help). Trying to juggle so many things has forced me to recently step back and examine what I really want out of life because I can’t do it all. There are only so many hours in the day and it’s really forcing me to sit down and think about what’s important to me so I can prioritize my time.
This is really hard for me because I overdo it and overcommit. It’s like I think I’m a goddamn superhuman who can do EVERYTHING and then I’m depressed and anxious when everything doesn’t work out perfectly and I hate myself a little and wonder why I can’t just do more. Like why can’t I write three screenplays, a book, and a play while balancing clients, a baby, a husband, a dog, and life? Because you fucking can’t, ME. Pop a CBD mint and sit the fuck down.
So after days of missing work meetings and beating myself up and falling behind on blogging and the book timeline, I sat down, opened up my MochiThings organizer (I’m not paid to talk about their products but I cannot live without them) and made a list of what truly makes me happy. It turns out that the things that make me feel good about myself, that inspire me to get out of bed every day to tackle life, are the things I do the least. How depressing.
I sat down with my husband, who is kind of like a plant and just absorbs information but doesn’t participate in conversations, and I ranted about how all I’ve ever wanted to do was write. I write for a living but it’s mostly copy and content for companies with the exception of my travel blog that generates some money and while I love being a copywriter (enough to teach a course on it at the university), I cannot say that selling software is the job of my dreams. I want to write here, in this blog. I want to write a newspaper column again. I want to publish essays and write more books. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “look, bitch, not everyone gets to do what they want,” and that’s true. But I worked really hard for a decade and it’s allowed me a little wiggle room. So, my Plant Husband and I decided that something had to give and I did the unthinkable: I cut loose a client who has given me most of my work, stability, and $$$ for the past four years. It was a really sweet deal and a great job working with wonderful humans. Letting go of something so sure and secure is terrifying and I feel so irresponsible and ridiculous. But mostly scared. Because for the first time in my life I’m going to be betting on myself. I’m going to actually see if I’ve got what it takes to write my own shit for a living. I’m putting a lot on the line: Our finances, security, my goddamn pride. If I fail, it will be epically and since I’ve now put it out there, publically, and oh my God am I doing the right thing?
I don’t usually take risks like this. I don’t usually quit jobs. Getting in the car with a stranger in my twenties? SURE! Because what could possibly go wrong? But putting myself out there in a way that forces me to come face to face with failure? Never. Because it’s terrifying and I am terrified but also a little hopeful. I’m finally doing the thing I’ve wanted to do for years. And I’m excited to wake up every day and write. And make art. And read. And take my son experience the magic that is the world and then write in my journal about how fucking cute he was the first time he saw flamingos at the Aviary. Note: He went batshit crazy. So here we go. It begins now. Wish me luck! And if you’re feeling generous, follow, like, comment, share. You might just be the reason it works out after all.