Getting Honest

The past month has been one of thrashing and writing has felt nearly impossible. Losing/leaving my job (and the office with my name on the door) has left me frantic about earning the next dollar. I have felt lost and, worse, like a loser. Derailed from adulthood.

What’s wrong with me? I ask myself. Why have I not arrived at some professional pinnacle? Why am I not a manager or somebody’s boss? Doesn’t the trajectory of midlife lead right into an office with a window and a desk big enough for a flowering potted plant?

But yesterday, after much soul searching, (and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott), I got honest with myself:  I have never wanted to climb the corporate ladder, to lead or have a title. Making bundles of money has never been a goal. Hokey as it may sound, all I have ever wanted to do is write.

My trajectory is my own. It’s a tough thing to accept, when my peers are rising in stature and income. But I’ve always been an upstream swimmer, and being in my 50s hasn’t changed this. If anything, it’s strengthened my resolve.

Getting sidetracked is easy. The thrill of prestige and money (especially when I have college tuition payments) easily clouds my vision, and the comforts of convention tempt me. But something stronger gnaws. Who I am has never been conventional. I have always been a writer. I have simply never believed in myself enough to claim it.

So, I have decided to attempt a memoir, or pieces of one. It is the one thing I have wanted to do–and have avoided—for a long time. There is no writing without honesty and as I try to make sense of the present, I am driven to dig into my past. I’ll do it to see where it takes me. I'll do it for myself. I’ll do it for my kids. I’ll do it because it is time to get out of my own way.

And I’ll do it here. I hope you’ll stay with me as I begin the journey.