When I'm at school or at work or just driving in my car, little thoughts prance through my brain to the "blog" folder. When I'm down, or up or just in between they make their way through the Ponder Too Much Forest to the "blog" folder.
And usually, I love sifting through that folder, picking out which thought to put down on fake paper that is the computer screen. But lately - I'm just leaving them in that folder.
If I had to describe my attitude, my mood, my persona as of late - it would be - hesitant.
I have so many things on my mind lately...that I want to discuss, explore, or mull over...but for some reason - I'm keeping my mouth shut. And keeping it all to myself. I suppose that's what I do when my confidence is lost, when I don't feel very safe saying my ideas or thoughts out loud.
At my mother's house for Rosh Hashana, I clammed up as soon as the first guests arrived. I habitually checked my watch - dying for the minute hand to strike the nine and tell me it was time to go to work. Just a few minutes beforehand, however, while I was trying to keep busy helping my mother with the food - my aunt Vicki cornered me.
"Okay so I need an update on what you're doing," she said. "You seem busy."
When I explained I had to be at work - she pressed me to update her right then and there...and for some reason...I did. Everyone always tells me that my schedule, working nights, writing days, going to school in between, is quite a load. Quite a lot. I never believe them. I figure it's not enough. But when Vicki's first words were, "that's a lot you're doing...that must be tough," I started to believe.
Maybe it is. Maybe it's too much.
Then, though I was determined to clam up, I told her how frustrated I was that nothing was really working in sync. I couldn't get ahead in writing because of my schedule and my schedule couldn't be compromised because it was the only way that I could do everything I was doing. I told her I wanted to write more - work less - but I couldn't figure out how. I told her freelance is not for me. I grow tired of writing from home, interviewing by phone. I want a desk, a newsroom and people to talk to.
In a matter of minutes - there it was.
And to my surprise - she nodded and understood in a way that made me think I was crazy. I wasn't just complaining and being lazy. Maybe there was validity to how I'd been feeling.
When she spoke of projects coming up that could mean more writing for me, the fact that my editor continues to complain that I can't write more for him, that there's a program they're hoping to implement - a grant program - allowing journalistic hopefuls to follow my editor around for a living, learning the ropes, I left the house worn out. Tired. Tired from hanging on to all that frustration. Ready to clam up again - but mulling this time, over the hope of something more.
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