It wasn't that long ago when I was completely unable to think long-term when it came to things such as life and money. In my world, if I wanted something to happen, it did- no matter the long-term implications.
I did not know how to live somewhere long term, did not understand the concept of really putting down roots somewhere and having to live through difficult, uncomfortable or just flat-out boring periods of life without grabbing my ball and running home.
Still, to this day, that concept of "I'm done here, let's pack up and go" is still very fresh in my mind. It lives in my head, whispers how that grass really IS greener over there (when compared to the dirt and sand of the desert) and I should somehow make that happen.
Except...we got a great deal on our mortgage and our monthly payments are low. Really low. Like...wow, I don't think we'd ever be able to replicate this, especially in a higher cost-of-living locale where we'd end up in an $800K shoe box.
I have really struggled this year. My kids are getting older and my brain's natural hard-wiring flitters back and forth between two constant thoughts:
1. OMG Arizona sucks we should go and spend the rest of their childhood somewhere pretty and green and close to family
2. You need to plan long-term for life and jobs and what you're doing isn't good enough and everyone's gonna laugh at you, you big old loser.
Neither of these are healthy thoughts. 1 is easier taken care of-- I forbid myself to look at job sites or MLS listings for other cities and states. We're not moving. Period. We're here for the long-term, like it or not, and trying to convince myself of all the "what-ifs" isn't going to do me a bit of good and will, most likely, only do me harm.
Thought 2 is more difficult. I spent a good portion of this school year chasing a job ideal that I thought I wanted, only to find out that it wasn't suited for me at all. I then changed my thoughts and started trying to plan for a hypothetical job 6,7 or 8 years out.
All I've done is manage to make myself miserable.
As I've said before, I have spent the past 9 or so years convincing myself that I did not want to write. Journalism, as I knew it, is gone. Most of my old magazine contacts no longer work in the industry. Yet, still, the intense desire to write is in me.
I finished writing my second book yesterday. (Actually...I've finished many books but this is the second one that feels viable and not just a load of garbage.) That feat alone feels pretty awesome.
My panic for the future hit another high this past weekend; all I could think about was the what-ifs and what I should be doings. Finally, I had to admit to myself...I really don't want to do what I've been planning to do.
I just feel like I should. I've placed my future on some imaginary pedestal under an intense microscope. After judging my future, I look at my past with 10-14 years of perspective and waver between "it is what it is" and "you're an idiot."
Idiot or not, I'm here, at my computer, ready to pour my heart out to an unknowing Internet in a time where everything and everyone is a brand, everyone is an Instagram "influencer" or has a YouTube channel.
I know I don't want that.
Even though I'm terrified at what the future holds for me, I have to admit: All I really want to do is write. I've tried to turn myself into other things, tried to force myself to quit. But, I can't.
I am what I am. I am a writer.
I did not know how to live somewhere long term, did not understand the concept of really putting down roots somewhere and having to live through difficult, uncomfortable or just flat-out boring periods of life without grabbing my ball and running home.
Still, to this day, that concept of "I'm done here, let's pack up and go" is still very fresh in my mind. It lives in my head, whispers how that grass really IS greener over there (when compared to the dirt and sand of the desert) and I should somehow make that happen.
Except...we got a great deal on our mortgage and our monthly payments are low. Really low. Like...wow, I don't think we'd ever be able to replicate this, especially in a higher cost-of-living locale where we'd end up in an $800K shoe box.
I have really struggled this year. My kids are getting older and my brain's natural hard-wiring flitters back and forth between two constant thoughts:
1. OMG Arizona sucks we should go and spend the rest of their childhood somewhere pretty and green and close to family
2. You need to plan long-term for life and jobs and what you're doing isn't good enough and everyone's gonna laugh at you, you big old loser.
Neither of these are healthy thoughts. 1 is easier taken care of-- I forbid myself to look at job sites or MLS listings for other cities and states. We're not moving. Period. We're here for the long-term, like it or not, and trying to convince myself of all the "what-ifs" isn't going to do me a bit of good and will, most likely, only do me harm.
Thought 2 is more difficult. I spent a good portion of this school year chasing a job ideal that I thought I wanted, only to find out that it wasn't suited for me at all. I then changed my thoughts and started trying to plan for a hypothetical job 6,7 or 8 years out.
All I've done is manage to make myself miserable.
As I've said before, I have spent the past 9 or so years convincing myself that I did not want to write. Journalism, as I knew it, is gone. Most of my old magazine contacts no longer work in the industry. Yet, still, the intense desire to write is in me.
I finished writing my second book yesterday. (Actually...I've finished many books but this is the second one that feels viable and not just a load of garbage.) That feat alone feels pretty awesome.
My panic for the future hit another high this past weekend; all I could think about was the what-ifs and what I should be doings. Finally, I had to admit to myself...I really don't want to do what I've been planning to do.
I just feel like I should. I've placed my future on some imaginary pedestal under an intense microscope. After judging my future, I look at my past with 10-14 years of perspective and waver between "it is what it is" and "you're an idiot."
Idiot or not, I'm here, at my computer, ready to pour my heart out to an unknowing Internet in a time where everything and everyone is a brand, everyone is an Instagram "influencer" or has a YouTube channel.
I know I don't want that.
Even though I'm terrified at what the future holds for me, I have to admit: All I really want to do is write. I've tried to turn myself into other things, tried to force myself to quit. But, I can't.
I am what I am. I am a writer.
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