Day 303: Words Part I

It has been a long time since I've posted.

I've missed it.

It's hard to believe that in less than a month, I will have frittered away one third of the time that I allowed myself to reach my goals.

Back in January, I blithely typed these words:

Here are my professional goals:

Have at least one published book on the market

Be a locally-recognized artist

Earn a living wage from my creative work

My personal goals are more fluid, but include investing in my marriage, living healthier and happier, and renovating our basement apartment.

Ha! Oh, to be so naive and optimistic. Let's consider the professional goals first, shall we?

I have four book ideas (two novels, one picture book, and one non-fiction), and I've brainstormed characters and settings, outlined plots, and written and re-written sentences and pages and chapters ... still nothing.

Many writers compare the publication of a book to giving birth. If that's the case, my books are still unfertilized cells, ripening silently in the dark as they wait for the big event.

I have created a few works of art - and sold one. Others are still WIPs (works in progress). I have a dedicated art room, but I still feel afraid to commit pencil, ink, and paint to actual paper and canvas.

It's an irrational fear, I know.

But the work of my hands is never the same as what I see in my head.

I know that practice makes perfect, but ... repeated failure is hard on the soul.

So ... day after day ... I procrastinate.

Night after night, when the sun sets on my beautiful art room full of blank pages and empty sketchbooks, it gets harder and harder to pick up a pencil.

And, while I do make about a grand a year from writing book reviews for Thriving Family, that's far from a living wage.

My progress towards my personal goals is much more encouraging.

My marriage is happy and healthy. Without sounding too mushy, I am blessed to share my life with a man who is supportive and encouraging, looks for opportunities to spend quality time with me, and loves me in spite of my many faults (even if he does sometimes call people bad names while he's driving).

He also cleans kitchens and bathrooms and cat litter bins and wakes up early on a Saturday morning so I can spend three hours doing his makeup.

Take one man, add tissue paper, a coffee filter, makeup, fake blood, and voila! A zombie is born.

As well, although Halloween led me into some unfortunate dietary indiscretions, I have gone from being unable to run for longer than 2 minutes straight to running a 5K in under 40 minutes. I've also remained (mostly) gluten-free since January except for the occasional Monkey Cake and the odd delicious slice of my dad's self-proclaimed "man bread".

However, the basement renovations are not going so well.

Thanks to the puppies, the basement is much, much worse than it was in January. My pink carpet has lovely brownish-yellow stains that no amount of scrubbing has been able to remove. The carpet in the bedroom is now a bare cement floor, and the grey paneling on the walls has been destroyed beyond repair by puppy paws, teeth, and slobber. The linoleum in the hallway is cracked and fading and held together with duct-tape and bricks. The stair carpet has been clawed into a field of green string and unraveling ends by the same cats who vandalized my carefully painted window sills.

I still have a hard time leaving my beautiful ground floor to descend into its cold depths.

But, since January, I've also realized something unexpected.

Life-writing is my personal GPS system.

By committing words to the screen, I can freeze my thoughts for long enough to see where I've been, where I am, where I'm going, and how to get there.

By choosing words to narrate my journey, and sharing those words with the world, I give myself both accountability and direction. I see my life in a different light. More able to see things from others' (and God's) perspectives. More likely to live in the present while still working towards my long-term goals. Less likely to succumb to the tyranny of the urgent or to procrastinate and waste time doing useless and meaningless activities.

In the past week, I have been thinking a lot about words. Their impact on my life, how they sound and feel, and how I use them - both in life and in writing.

But I also have a tired zombie-man lying on my parents' couch, waiting to go home (also known as the land of no WiFi). So I will leave those thoughts until tomorrow.

Enjoy falling back tonight! 

I know I will relish that extra hour relaxing under warm quilts on a soft bed, going to sleep by the orange glow of the electric fireplace, and waking up just in time to see a stringy glob of drool stretch all the way down from Sam's slobbery face to mine, soaking my hair and pillow and reminding me that life at its best is messy and filled with surprises.