Wow, how is it August already?
My lack of posting isn’t because I have nothing going on. On the contrary. I’ve started up my half training for the fall, after slacking a bit with my running in June and early July. It’s hard getting back into it, but I’m into week three and am feeling it come back, slowly. I’m still low on endurance, but I’m getting there.
Yesterday I had lunch with an old high school friend; someone I haven’t seen in at least 15 years, maybe more.
And over the course of our lunch, she mentioned that she wanted to write but was finding it hard to find the time.
I wholly, completely, one thousand percent identify with her.
And then we talked about how hard it is to find time, and she showed me her journal, where she keeps her ideas for writing. How she heard a perfect writing prompt in an airport one time (seriously, it’s a PERFECT prompt: someone on the loudspeaker announced: The Cowboy is down. That is inspiration for a story right there.)
We talked about how hard it is, though, to find the energy at the end of a long day to put words to paper, unless there’s a burning idea for a story. (And even then it’s nearly impossible.)
I often have stories in bullet form point – where if I just had the TIME, I could nuture the sentence or bullet into something beautiful.
Ah, but there’s no time.
Something about me: I am an accountant who probably should have never been an accountant. It was a practical choice, of course. I was driven by indecision – not knowing WHAT I really wanted to do – and coupled with a burning desire never to be out of work.
And it worked out for me – since becoming a CPA in 2003 I have never been out of work, without it being my choice.
But, by gawd, it’s soul-sucking. There are days when I feel so far removed from the girl who spent her summers writing ridiculous “novels” – wandery love stories with very little plot. (aka: girl meets boy, they fall in love, they get married and have kids. Yawn.)
I used to dream about starring in a Broadway play. I wanted to dance and sing and write and play my clarinet.
I sing in my car, and dancing has been replaced with running. I haven’t played my clarinet since I was pregnant with Owen.
And I’m currently writing about my client’s monthly deferred revenue reconciliation process.
Thing is, I know that girl is in here somewhere. And if I could carve out just a LITTLE more time to make it happen, maybe I could find her again.
Except. My alarm rang this morning at 4:21am (so, you know, I can get a snooze in before I have to get up), and I’ve been in Boston at my client since 6. I’ll leave here at 3(ish) today so I can pick up Owen and bring him to his own race tonight – he and Jeff are running the Beverly Yankee Homecoming race at 5:30 and 6 tonight, respectively.
Then we’ll go home and I’ll figure out how to work in dinner for Jeff and I, a 4 mile run, packing for our weekend trip to Boothbay Maine, and maybe some additional work tonight, depending on my client deadline.
Where will I get the time?
Oh. Right now. On this blog.
This is writing, too.
It’s time I just DO it.
So here goes. 15 minutes a day. Here, maybe. Maybe in a journal if my thoughts are not fit for human consumption. (Yes, that happens.)
But here’s where I say this:
I want to write. And I am just going to do it.