on the writing life, or something like it
so much i've wanted to say over the last few months, but i can't seem to get here, find the time, especially not with J. in bolivia for a month (12 days left!). that statement is a decent segue into what's on my mind this morning.
i found out yesterday that one of my FB friends, a woman i went to grad school with, is having her first book published soon. and since i learned of this, i've been insanely jealous. in meditating on what has been a really emotional response to this news, i have realized that i am not really jealous of the actual book publication. she is a great writer, is a pretty good friend, and like a good friend should be in return, i am genuinely happy for her accomplishment. really what i'm jealous of is what this accomplishment means, what it symbolizes is lacking in my own life.
time: i've always been a poor time manager - and prone to extreme laziness - but since having kids, there is literally no time for myself anymore. i knew that children would mean that they would, necessarily, come first, but in between tending to their needs (which are many!) and just maintaining *life* (laundry, meals, paying bills, caring for pets), i've found that there's pretty much nothing left over. being able to run regularly is about all i can manage. even teaching last semester i didn't have any dedicated time for it - it all had to be squeezed in, in tiny bits, time made when there really wasn't any. and that was a very stressful way to live. i knew too that i would also necessarily drop to the bottom of the priority hierarchy. but i honestly didn't imagine that i would disappear from it altogether. and i have.
inspiration: this is perhaps the more upsetting issue. i'm jealous of my friend because she had so much - and more, from her other non-book publications - to say. i am the sort of person who can't seem to write small, disconnected pieces. i feel the need to be working on writing that is part of a larger whole, some larger project. and that larger book project that i had been planning and researching, had written part of in my Life Before Kids, just doesn't feel relevant to me or to my life anymore. doesn't feel so important that it needs or wants to be written. problem is, i haven't replaced it with anything else. because well, i am just empty. of ideas. of words. i so desperately want to start a new project, want to find something that inspires me, and i can't seem to. no matter how hard i try. and boy do i try. my life, my interests, have all become so disparate that i can't find a way to reconnect them, unify them, put the pieces back together. find some inner wholeness.
maybe 'jealous' isn't the right word after all. though i'm not sure what else is.
i found out yesterday that one of my FB friends, a woman i went to grad school with, is having her first book published soon. and since i learned of this, i've been insanely jealous. in meditating on what has been a really emotional response to this news, i have realized that i am not really jealous of the actual book publication. she is a great writer, is a pretty good friend, and like a good friend should be in return, i am genuinely happy for her accomplishment. really what i'm jealous of is what this accomplishment means, what it symbolizes is lacking in my own life.
time: i've always been a poor time manager - and prone to extreme laziness - but since having kids, there is literally no time for myself anymore. i knew that children would mean that they would, necessarily, come first, but in between tending to their needs (which are many!) and just maintaining *life* (laundry, meals, paying bills, caring for pets), i've found that there's pretty much nothing left over. being able to run regularly is about all i can manage. even teaching last semester i didn't have any dedicated time for it - it all had to be squeezed in, in tiny bits, time made when there really wasn't any. and that was a very stressful way to live. i knew too that i would also necessarily drop to the bottom of the priority hierarchy. but i honestly didn't imagine that i would disappear from it altogether. and i have.
inspiration: this is perhaps the more upsetting issue. i'm jealous of my friend because she had so much - and more, from her other non-book publications - to say. i am the sort of person who can't seem to write small, disconnected pieces. i feel the need to be working on writing that is part of a larger whole, some larger project. and that larger book project that i had been planning and researching, had written part of in my Life Before Kids, just doesn't feel relevant to me or to my life anymore. doesn't feel so important that it needs or wants to be written. problem is, i haven't replaced it with anything else. because well, i am just empty. of ideas. of words. i so desperately want to start a new project, want to find something that inspires me, and i can't seem to. no matter how hard i try. and boy do i try. my life, my interests, have all become so disparate that i can't find a way to reconnect them, unify them, put the pieces back together. find some inner wholeness.
maybe 'jealous' isn't the right word after all. though i'm not sure what else is.