If I didn’t know any better–if I thought the universe was at all interested in helping me out–I’d be getting panicky right now thinking about how I’ve been at my new (old) job for a year now. This is, to remind you but also to remind me, the job I took because I wanted to spend less time at work and more time working on other things, with “other things” a stand-in mostly for writing.
Yet in this past year, I haven’t written much of anything outside of blog posts (I mean, there’s the 20,000 word email to an ex that I’ll never actually send, but we probably shouldn’t count that). And, if I wanted to take a few recent events as signs, I’d be extremely anxious about that fact.
Would-be sign #1: when 2 dates in a row consisted mostly of conversation surrounding the guy’s job, since it’s his passion, and he couldn’t imagine doing something for work that he wasn’t passionate about, and he spends so much time on it because he loves it so much and it allows him to do exactly what he’s always wanted to do, and he just couldn’t understand how some people have jobs they don’t live for.
Would-be sign #2: at Bushwick Open Studios yesterday, seeing a friend who had a pop-up thrift shop, and knowing that’s something she’d worked hard to make happen but that also just fit her precisely because it allows her to do something she is passionate about that also makes money.
Of course, as I already said, these are not signs, because the universe doesn’t care about sending me constructive messages. Ones like, “Don’t forget you’re turning 30 in 2 days and nowhere near where anyone, especially including yourself, might have guessed you’d be in life at this point! Haha jk–nobody ever spent time guessing where you’d be when you’re 30 because they were too busy getting married and having kids,” well, yes. Those ones it sends. But helpful ones encouraging me to pick up the writing again because even though I no longer expect or even (maybe) want to make it my career one day, I really should be doing it more often and attempting to at least get some stuff published somewhere? Those ones it doesn’t bother to deliver.
Which is good, because it means I’m not panicked about the writing hiatus. But whether the universe cares or not, I am planning to get back into writing and try submitting things and be rejected more. After all, I don’t have a husband or kids or a job I’m obsessed with, so I have no excuse, right?
I do keep pretty busy just enjoying living my life without worrying too much about the future, but that’s almost become an unconscious habit by this point, so there’s got to be some wiggle room in there to attach some letters together to form some sentences.