Do you ever feel like you’re being tested? Like the universe is throwing hurdles across your path to see whether or not you can clear them? It’s been that kind of a week for me. That kind of a year, even.
As most of you probably know, I quit my job 5 months ago in order to pursue my writing full-time. I don’t think I made that decision naively; I knew it would be hard. But it’s one thing to know it, and another thing to live it. Right now “hard” feels like understatement of the year.
At the beginning, I had 12 months, pure and promising, stretched out ahead of me like a luxurious bubble bath. But as each day ticked by — each dollar, each unwritten word — the suds started to disappear and the water turned cold. Now I’m sitting naked in the tub, feeling more vulnerable and anxious than ever before.
I am well aware that this is a “first world problem.” I have food and clothes and shelter, and I can afford (more or less) to give myself this time. I’m not trying to whine. But as bills add up, and things break down, and time trickles away, I do find myself panicking a bit. The tub grows in my mind; it becomes a pool, a lake, an ocean. I know the shore is there, and I’m swimming toward it, but my arms are tired and I have no idea how long until I reach land.
It’s too late to turn back. I don’t really want to, anyway. But I admit, I’m scared. I’m afraid of sinking. Of drowning. Of failing.
There’s no real point to this post except to confess. To release this inner demon so I can face it. I’m stressed and terrified, despite my vast support network. If I am chronicling my journey as a writer, then I have to include this part of it.