This marks, roughly, the second year in our new house. I have a new job and a new car. Things are leveling out in all the best ways, I think.
Today is my birthday. I’m 35 years old once the clock strikes 11AM PST.
I made this reflection sometime during the last year, where I realized that I am as old as someone I would have considered to be a “grownup.” And when I look at Eowyn, who sits on the couch, blissfully unaware of Alyssa and I’s responsibilities, fears, and anxieties, I smile. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid! Hopefully, I can ease you in to it.
I’m currently doing some professional coaching. (If you’ve ever wanted to experience true “impostor syndrome,” try telling someone that you want to be famous someday and then try to justify it. It’s like Shark Tank, but it’s your life that you are pitching. And God help you if Marc Maron doesn’t like it!) A friend approached me and asked if I wanted to be his guinea pig for his coaching certification, and I accepted with some trepidation. Coaching, as I imagined it, was a way to con rich people out of their money, but apparently (as with all things) there was more nuance to the field. It’s more goal oriented than I imagined, with the coach acting as a guide, asking questions and teasing out answers. My goals that I set for myself were to prioritize reading new books in my life, going out on dates with Alyssa, and “perceive writing as an extension of who I am, not a chore.” Even though I’m only a few weeks in to the course, I have seen a net positive change.
With the 3rd goal, I felt like Summer or Beth Smith whacking their Meeseeks Box. (Asking someone to help guide me through an existential problem, as opposed to a practical one.) I resolved to start following my formula for the Writing in Handcuffs videos I made a while back on Instagram, using the exercises to force myself to write. Instead of writing to share the final product though, I’m keeping them close. I haven’t even shown Alyssa the stories yet, and I don’t see any reason to. Inextricably linked to writing, is the trauma of my youth. It was only some time last year that I made the discovery that my writing was done primarily to disassociate from past experiences. But, from this point of view, writing becomes a gateway back to the trauma, to wallow in it when I probably shouldn’t. It’s like a runner that jumps in to a lion enclosure to get their daily jog. Why not, then, write as an expression of freedom and creativity? This is what I’m trying to achieve with the final goal.
So far, it seems to be working.
Alyssa is working quickly through the novella, which is usually a good sign. I hope to be editing it again soon.
Anyways, Happy Birthday to me. Time to go to church.
See you next time!