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!
No comments:
Post a Comment