Ahhhh, I'm All Outta Posts!

I may or may not be able to catch up on post frequency this week. Phew, days oddly enough seem to pass more quickly in planning than pounding out on the story word count even.

Planning is fun though. Just planning relationships, intertwining plots, back stories... 

It's like being a hobby writer again and I missed it. I had fallen into a trap of thinking of it as a future career. I can't not think about the current impossibility of ever retiring (okay, slowing down). It's just as likely I'll never see old age (doesn't really bother me though). Writing has always been a pipe dream. I get to entertain the maybe of a career under special circumstances. The creative thing is just a part of me, regardless of whether it ever affords me any other comfort in life. I have this life of strange circumstances and responsibilities and this window where I can entertain the what-ifs, so I adapt.

There's a freedom in creativity and I messed up many times in the past by treating it like any other job. Just like I messed up thinking any job would do. I don't believe that anything was a waste. I might play what-ifs with my future but it's a dangerous practice to apply to the past. That often requires a visit through red alert places that are fuzzy for a reason. I have 'now' so I can't treat it like some serious investment. True, I create hoping to see it finished, but it has to matter 'now' more. It's not a job, not a hobby, not really a lifestyle either. It's so much 'other' that it needs its own path.

My mom once blurted out that she was happy doing nothing with her life. I might have tried to agree with her in the past but I was writing my first book series then and I shook my head and felt a smile tug at my lips. 

"Not me. Not anymore. Jobs can go to hell, but I need to have a purpose. Even if it's just to draw or write or daydream." 

"Or drink vodka!" 

"Yup, yup... That too. Because if I can't celebrate my purpose, what's the point?"

Mom was proud of me still, for shedding the modern shackles of other people's expectations, of developing talents that helped me grow into the self. Maybe those are the luxuries I needed. Not vacation time from work or raises or the things people think we're supposed to want. Sometimes, we simply labor to avoid our parents' mistakes. And end up landing on the same squares on the gameboard sometimes. After a while, it's less about doing 'better' and more about doing what's right for me.

It's not in me to live an idle life like my mom did. It's hard for people to get how active I am because I'm a house elf. I actually speed walk about 8-12 hours a week and I don't clean or cook unless everyone is asleep or I'm alone. I do it whether I'm in pain or not but I'd rather not have anyone see when I'm hurting when I push myself. I do HIIT workouts on the spur of the moment and bust out in kitchen yoga. Even people I live with are surprised by my results and output. I don't do a lot of 'progress shots' on social media either. Namely because the process is for me. Ha, until those results come, talking about it seems like lip service.

People can assume what they like-- about how 'smart' or hard I work, my work ethic, my activity level and my social prowess. As long as I love life, it's enough. Heh, and it's not easy. I was no less groomed into the benefits of a 9-5 contribution and sometimes I even pine for the security and simplicity. Until I remember what that was for me. I have different miseries and perks to this life and I swapped them for good reason.

Said it before but we don't owe people some show of misery to emphasize how hard we work. We're allowed to enjoy our jobs (although showing that REALLY gets managers on your case-- if you enjoy your job, you're definitely not working hard, right?). I'm going to keep taking a page from the jobs that I loved, the jobs that lasted, and I'll enjoy it. I'll wake up eager to do it. I'll take days off and still think about it fondly. I'll get pissed and frustrated sometimes but that's just how I work through problems.

I don't really have anything concrete to talk about. Just that I might not have content. Might get suddenly inspired, who knows? Story planning-- if that's where my days land for a while longer, I can't complain. I do have a lot of maybes and no shortage of things to play with.

As always, there's little I can say about my work. I protect it until it's released. So much changes anyway that I can't really commit to the bursts of content from the in-between. Lol really, it would probably be more confusing than helpful.

In any case, it's no biggie. I don't get a lot of traffic at this point and more often than not, it does take time out of the long list of more productive projects. I'm sure I'll be back to blogging when the whim strikes. Preferrably when I have something to talk about, not just idle reflections.

More isn't necessarily better. It's fine if you're fast, okay if you're slow-- no reason to force it as long as you're rolling along.

Kids Never See Me as Unemployed

Once more, I have to give props to kids for their perspectives about life. Yes, there are places where their inexperience or optimism or even open-mindedness may seem naive, but it also helps you shed some of those crusty edges-- the misery we mask as practical or responsible, the way we judge ourselves so harshly.

I've said before-- I hate the humble brag. Yet the other day, I was caught doing it. When asked what my job is I reverted back to saying that my last employer was Petco, but now I'm an artist (and author, duh, but it was my friend Erika that chimed in on that for me). It wasn't a conscious attempt to humble brag but, damn it, that's exactly what it sounded like and one that downplayed a DREAM. Not just a job, not even a reliable career, but a dream that I'm actively pursuing. And yes- it's still in its infancy, still feels surreal. Hell, when someone remembers that I have fibromyalgia (among other things), I almost forget that sometimes myself. Not because I'm not in pain, but because I'm used to defending myself as being 'fine' and my threshold for pain is something I've just grown so used to, it's not something I give any thought to. It just is. Like how kids can put zero thought into the transition between running and jumping on a bicycle and pedaling.

I can't say for certain why I felt so apologetic instead of proud. I work 8-14 hour days on my work. I was actually embarrassed that I had responded with so little enthusiasm-- at least until my friend's son Billy (wait, I think we call him Will now, but I am bad enough with learning one variation so that might take a few tries) was genuinely impressed. I don't mean just with a 'wow' but that instant lift of eyebrows and sudden lean towards you that isn't faked interest. No 'why don't you have a REAL job' or 'yeah, but what ELSE do you do?'

Perhaps a lot of adults forget their dreams or give up on them. Some actually resent people who take different risks and prioritize different sacrifices. Something about society made them believe that anything you wanted prior to age 30 was childish and impossible. Kids (and my very wonderful friends and family) just know me. Long-time friends and family know what I went through to gain that courage, what sacrifices I make to balance my priorities, and so on. Kids, well, they don't know the grittiest parts but they are still capable of understanding something that adults gloss over. 

For kids, dreams are stars, way up high, and know that up through the unknown is scary, unpredictable, but thrilling. For a great deal of adults, dreams are still stars. The nearest one is the Sun, the others impossibly far, and you'd burn up before you ever got there. So maybe a dream does start out as impractical. That we start to learn our expectations are unlikely, unrealistic, and many decide it's not worth it. My dream may have had its infancy, but when I collided with disappointment, doubt, and fear, I readjusted my attitude.

And I get this much; much of the responsibilities we chose to take on, thinking it was just what adults do (kids, marriage, jobs) gave us new priorities. I spent a good 15 years in short-lived jobs, battling my health issues, never understanding why adulting just wasn't panning out. My life, like so many others, wasn't according to plan. I never made enough money to have my own place, never kept a job long enough to do so, jumped in and out of hospitals, lost so many people. I didn't want marriage or kids, but I took on raising my nephews without a second thought. After gaining my second degree in graphic design, I wanted to find a job as a graphic designer, but I never learned how to drive and zero offers were reachable by public transit. Plus, my hours had to fit into when the kids were in school. I couldn't physically work as a cashier anymore. I tried sell handcrafts but I got tired of people undervaluing my work.

Writing started to fill those anxious hours where nothing seemed to fit right. And kids, kids are always the ones that can be completely ignorant of that last paragraph and simply think it's exciting that I didn't just write-- I drew, I formatted, I published. Tons of people write but, as I've said before, everyone 'has ideas' or 'is writing a book'. Some people even publish then get discouraged when they aren't a smash hit and it ends there. Kids see the results and marvel at them. Even without experience to make them jaded, they know it's no small feat. They don't need time or trials to understand insecurity and not finishing what you start. 

You can grumble about kids these days all you want. There have always been hormonal, entitled, reckless, unstable kids, but more often than not, I see kids who make me hopeful for the future. Many of them do more than access social media to bully or gossip-- they're smart and aware and struggling with a world very different from ours at their age. My parents was before the technological boom, mine was on the cusp, these kids are in the thick of this explosion of information and chaos. None of us really get each other and I'm tired of the pissing contest on who had it worse; you really can't compare the sum of anyone's experiences that simply. Still, I see people giving up on these kids before they've even gotten started. They certainly don't whine or procrastinate any more than adults and beneath the teenage bravado, they're scared of what the future might hold too. Youthful arrogance that they can do better might be overblown, but it's like revving your engine before a race-- showy but it puts you in the mindset for the race and preps the vehicle.

I'm rather fond of kids that don't let a jaded world limit their perspective. Whether we completely 'get' each other or not is of no consequence. For someone to be able to assess the value of your contribution without asking you to justify it is the most wonderful, reaffirming experience. So I'll work at it. Someday, I won't revert to the stupid impulse to apologize for working hard to chase a dream. I may need a few brilliant reminders from the most amazing people I know. They don't always know how amazing they are, but that's what I'm here for.

We raise this village. Not one busted cog in the bunch.