A lot has been going on in my life lately. As I mentioned in my previous post, after six months of unemployment, I am now working full time again - and I'm loving it! Working at a pediatric office is not my dream job, but I have to say that it's surprisingly fulfilling. I admit that seeing all the newborns gets tough because of what I have gone through, but I get to see some pretty inspirational things, too. I children with special needs whose parents are 100% invested in their growth and development - no matter how different or difficult that might prove. I see men taking responsibility for their children and refusing to be just another "baby daddy". I enjoy interacting with the kids - especially the ones who haven't yet equated the notion of the doctor with the pain of a shot. They're fearless, and quite a bit of fun.
Along with the sense of peace brought by being a "productive" member of society again, my job has given me another opportunity for which I am deeply grateful - an hour-long lunch break. I don't use these sixty precious moments to socialize, but, for the first time in a very, very long time, I use them to exercise. Although I started counting calories over seven months ago, I hadn't added exercise to my plan until three months ago, when I started working again. The changes in my body, attitude, and health have been mind-blowing. I even got the chance to write about what I am experiencing on the practice's website! I've lost seventeen pounds (give or take) and two jeans sizes. I even did the unthinkable (for me) and signed up for a Couch to 5K program, which started this week.
When I look at the progress I've made this year in the area of my health, I'm both very proud and very grateful. I know that God has been with me during the whole process, even though I haven't talked to him about it a lot. But when I sit back adn examine other areas of my life, I'm very disappointed. For instance: my writing.
I call myself a writer. In my head, that looks a lot like this: I use every spare moment to scribble on napkins, in notebooks, on my own skin the ideas that leap into my consciousness; I rollphrases around in my mind and on my tongue; I have conversations with characters that exist only in my imagination; I relish in sitting down before a blank screen and bleeding words until that screen is full of perfect little rows of beautiful black letters.
But, actually - at least lately - it's looked a lot more like this: I think about my blog and my two novels-in-progress while I'm power-walking on my lunch break, then I come home and have dinner, change into my pajamas, and watch Netflix (the show of the hour is currently Twin Peaks, since the parents wouldn't let me watch it the first time around).
ThenI I feel bad about my lack of writing, and plan to make up for it the next day.
Which, of course, never happens.
Well, I'm going to do something that I've never done before, and take a cue from my own success. In regards to my health, I had determined to take things slow, one step at a time, and actually stop believing that change was impossible. I set goals that were reasonable for me. I took things one day at a time, one decision at a time, and, when I made poor choices, I forgave myself quickly and started anew the next day. Instead of ripping off huge chunks, I was nibbling away at my goals, allowing myself to adjust to a different lifestyle.
I'm going to "nibble" at my writing, too. Finishing two full-length novels and blogging regularly - well, that's a lot to handle, especially when I have the ridiculous mindset that all of my blog posts have to be life-changing - or at the very least, completely thought-out, rehearsed, and flawlessly edited. Not that they always are, of course. But perfectionism will do that to you.
I'm going to "allow" myself to post blogs that are neither deep nor meaningful. I might even post some short stories or creative writing. Poetry. Movie reviews. I will not post anything that violates my stated purpose - to encourage and inspire. But maybe it would be good to start "nibbling" away at my dream again.
It might even taste sweeter that way.
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