Applying Myself

I've been blue for a few days. Really I had sort of a blue year. But it's now 2018 and therefore resolutions abound. I am no different although I take myself less seriously in this area than probably most of society. I don't so much make resolutions as I make plans to take steps forward in my life.

One of the things that I've planned to do this year is to finish my latest book. The one that I'm actually going to publish. The one that's finally "me" incarnated in a manuscript after I don't know how many mess-ups and wrong turns over the span of a decade. And I'm pretty close, having just hit 200 pages yesterday and floating somewhere in the realm of 60,000 words.

But what I'm still finding holds me back on a regular basis is my aforementioned feelings of blueness, mostly due to my illnesses and not because of anything inherently bad about my life situation. I am blessed in so many ways, but I hurt in so many ways too. And when I'm not motivated to do much of anything for weeks at a time due to the sad feelings in my heart, I'm certainly not motivated to write.

I spent a lot of down time on my couch over the holidays because we ended up having to cancel a planned trip to visit friends in NYC for New Years. And my husband got sick and was asleep for a couple of solid days. And it was also an arctic tundra, so going outside made me spit curses at the wind.

And during this time of relative quiet, I went back to my age old problem of not believing that I can do the things I want to do. This falsified story that I've been telling myself since my childhood. And I spent a few days repeatedly telling myself that this is absolute rubbish and that the only one standing in my way is me.

So starting yesterday, I've begun to try harder to apply myself. I no longer have as much fear about writing but what I do still struggle with is motivation. And I don't know why, really, although I suspect it's still tied into fear just a little bit. But then I also think it's not front and center for me when my body is still broken. The truth of things is that I've had bigger problems to deal with and haven't felt like my lack of writing progress had room on the life stressor shelf.

But, like Elvis said, it's now or never. In a month I will be, for all intents and purposes, unemployed again. And while I'm freaking out about this a little bit, I'm also at peace because there are some copywriting opportunities that I think are still cooking. And also because I'll continue to get just enough commission from one of my writers to allow us to pay our bills. I was definitely blessed with that one.

So this is the perfect time, really, if there ever was one. The last time I was unemployed and had time to devote to this writing thing, I had no money in the bank. I lost my home. I was alone and, eventually, suicidal.

This time things are different.

This time I don't have to worry so hard about where my next meal will come from. It will come because I've got a husband with me now, who has a job with a steady income. It will come because I didn't squander the extra money I've made over the last year or so, and instead socked it away in an investment account to hold for a rainy day. It will come because my life is different now than it was before, and I'm in a better place now than I was at age 28.

All the reasons I gave myself for not being able to do my writing work are not as valid as they once were. So apply myself, I shall. It's a conscious effort, a daily kicking of myself in the ass. Sometimes it comes in the form of scolding, and shoving. In a metaphorical sort of way, of course. But hey...whatever works, right?