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Yes, I know that Tyler Perry has beat me to the sentiment. Still it seems like I am always rambling on here. So much so that I’m starting to wonder if that isn’t the point of having the blog to begin with. You see, my passions in life are many. I am never working on just one creative project. My life has always been filled with changes. Some have been big (I’m thinking of my divorce, all the moving around, and jobs here) others have been minute and unnoticed by many. All of the change sometimes feels like I am going mad and so, this blog feels like the musings of a madwoman at times.

No-matter-where-you-go-orWhat I do know with a great deal of certainty is this: Life is nothing more than a complicated period of growth from beginning to end. Some people thrive while others find it difficult and riddled with anxiety. I, however, seem to be somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. Some days, I’m content and able to “not sweat the small stuff”. Then there are the times that I feel completely inadequate and socially awkward. I think that this is something a great many writers experience in their lives. We are used to our little bubbles and the characters we create. At some point though, we are forced out of the world of our creation and into the reality that is around us.

In my 36 years I never thought of making friends as something that you had to work at or even make a priority. It wasn’t something that I found difficult in my youth. But, since my relationship with my ex-husband, I do find that I have a great deal of social anxiety and it is harder to make friends. Why? I could give any number of reasons. I could even blame him for isolating me but the truth is, I allowed myself to be in that situation and now, I have to find my way out of it.

It was pointed out to me that I am weird. I write about a lifestyle that… (now how did they put it?) “doesn’t exist for normal people”. I guess I have champagne tastes and live in the heart of beer country. I want the lifestyles that I’ve written about in those pieces this individual read. I don’t like beer. Never have, and really don’t think that I ever will. In the same coin, I don’t like caviar either.

I had high expectations of adulthood. I expected to have a closer circle of friends that I could entertain with my husband. I figured that I would have a kid or two by the time I was this age and that I’d be taking family vacations to see family in Florida and hit Disney World with the kids. I expected evenings of conversation, dinner parties, and games. I expected to have some evenings out at lectures or talks about various topics. I also figured that I would have events to launch a book. And I mistakenly thought that, once I had books out there, the marketing of the writing would get easier. The reality is that it hasn’t gotten easier and I wish I could just afford to hire someone to book things and put it on my schedule. Then maybe I wouldn’t stress about it so much.

But, here I am. I’m working at a day job and on a writing career. I’m considering a return to school to get my degree. Perhaps I’ll go on an get my MFA. Who knows? But those higher expectations are not something I’m willing to concede at this point. I still want my adult life to have something resembling what I dreamed. Oh, nothings is perfect. I know that. But, I would still like that close circle of friends and those evenings of dinner parties and games. I’d like to have those people to celebrate the accomplishments that are coming with and share the bumps along the road. I still want my vacations and my writing time. And yes, part of me still wants that family life though, I’m listening to a clock tick away here and know that it likely won’t be in the cards for me.

traditional-home-officeSo what is a writer to do?

You keep going one day at a time. You work the job. You keep writing the next piece. You keep trying to make connections and friends. You get up, you move along, and sometimes, you just have to hide away in that world of your own creation when it all gets too overwhelming.

So this weekend, I will try to get out. I will write. And I will try to form a plan for transforming the space I have into something that is uniquely me and inspiring. If I focus on what I can control, then maybe I can keep from making myself mad in this phase of my life. It could be possible that I’ll figure out some pearl of wisdom while I’m at it. I suppose you’ll have to stick around and read to find out.