I don’t know where I’m headed
Or if this is just a big mistake,
But something’s telling me
That falling down is a chance
I’ll just have to take.
Marie Digby, “Where Do I Go”
There once was a time when things were moving so slowly, I wondered if I would ever catch up to normal speed again. Cue one year later, and I’m desperately trying to find time to fit projects and commitments into an already full schedule. I’m frustrated and a bit overwhelmed, and while I want to shed tears as a release, that frustration usually winds up manifesting itself into anger, which makes me want to uncharacteristically lash out. Instead, I do something much worse:
I ignore it.
I ignore the problem in an attempt to figure it out while it steadily builds and gets worse because I don’t yet know my limitations. Or maybe I do know those limitations, as I’ve been seeing the warning signs. Maybe I just ignore that, too.
I think I’ve become a bit addicted to opportunity.
I think I’ve been so eager for this, working for this, that now that it’s come, I don’t exactly know how to handle it.
In August, I said yes to everything because I was out of a job and bored and wanted something to fill my time. Then, somehow, everything changed.
I accepted a full-time job, I was beginning a part-time freelance career, and I was back to volunteering with the animals, while still trying to maintain connections, keep up with these blogs which have been, truly, my saving grace, and continue to work on my fiction writing. But the more I take on, the more frustrated I become, the less I’m able to connect, the less I’m able to accomplish.
It all has boiled down to one very sobering thought:
I can’t do it all.
I want to. I want to be able to handle it all and I’ve been desperately trying to find that balance, but no matter how hard I try, I always manage to tip that scale so that something ends up being sacrificed. And what is sacrificed is either time with my family or friends, my own writing…Or myself.
Is it worth it? I’m not sure. It feels like a compromise on a dream, a compromise I was ready to make. I always wanted to be a fiction writer, but now I’m a writer and that seems good enough.
I’m not a journalist. I’m not a banker, either, but I love that job for the people, the subject matter, and the steady income it provides as I’ve pursue my dream of writing. And although being a freelance writer isn’t my ultimate dream, I’m enjoying it; I feel like it’s a step towards getting there, and so any opportunity that comes up, I accept, afraid that I might be passing on one that could mean something, afraid that this opportunity won’t come around again.
I know that there are second chances, that life comes around again just when you need it and maybe are least expecting it. But I’ve wanted something like this for so long, that I’m a bit afraid to take that chance and let it go.
Something has to give a little.
I just don’t know what.