I’ve been trying to “improve” myself in a lot of ways in the last few years. I’ve been dieting (or changing to a healthier lifestyle), reading more varieties of books, and trying to expand myself culturally and mentally. It seems that I always set out with these great intentions but then I just get lazy or let life get in the way. One example of this is the novel I’ve been trying to write since I was in high school.
I’ve started about 10 different novels in the course of my life. Technically I finished one, but I’ve lost the manuscript so I’m sure that it doesn’t count anymore. I vaguely remember what it was about, but it wasn’t special enough to recreate. The point is that I know that I can see it through if I put in the time and effort, but for some reason I just can’t scrounge that up. It’s always been a huge goal of mine to be published, and not just something lame, but a real novel that I can go to Barnes and Noble and hold in my hands. I keep a document on Google Docs handy for whenever creativity strikes. I’ve currently got two outlines that are half finished and scads of other story ideas that I haven’t had the time or inclination to flesh out. I know I’ve got to put myself in a position to be able to write, or at least dictate, my words down.
I’ve been toying with the idea of having a “Meags” night one evening a week after work. I pick a day of the week and just go to Panera Bread or Starbucks, bring my laptop, grab a coffee and just write. Or if nothing comes to me, I can read, or just do some “me” thing. I am definitely an introvert, I need time alone to think and to absorb life. I just feel so lazy when it actually comes to doing more than taking a bath or going to bed early or zoning out in front of the TV. I’m not sure why I haven’t just bit the bullet and done it already, but I keep feeling like something is holding me back.
I sort of have this daydream where I go to live somewhere abroad for a year and be completely alone. (The current locale of choice is Dublin - blame the novel PS, I Love You.) But I know that deep down, I don’t really want to be all alone for a period of months. As much as I like solitude and self-reflection, I also really enjoy conversation and sharing. Obviously, the solution would be to take some time out when I need it and go work on my novel, but once again, I’m having extreme difficulty in motivating myself to do it. I keep thinking “well, if I didn’t work 40 hours a week, I’d have more time to go do that sort of thing”, but I know that I’m just making excuses for myself.
I don’t want to overwhelm myself with all of my goals (being fit, reading a lot, keeping a clean house) but I also don’t want to feel like I did nothing but work and collapse for an extended period of my life. I’ve known for awhile that full time work just isn’t for me, but it seems like now I can’t do anything but keep on keeping on, especially with other goals looming over my head (buying our first house, having financial security). I hate having to choose between several things that I desire equally.
I really don’t know how to end this thought, since as of yet I have no solutions. I know what I want, but I don’t know how to make that happen in a desirable way. I’m hoping that eventually, the feeling will just strike me and I’ll be putting on my coat and heading out, laptop in tow.