Tuesday, January 1, 2013
The Year of Change
I didn’t want to fall into this trap, but here I am anyway. It’s 2013, and I’m having a very hard time sticking to my decision of several months ago to not write anymore. I have given it up, I don’t do it anymore.
No more writing for me! I have given it up in favor of pursuing my lifelong dream of being a numbers person.
Okay, that hasn’t been a lifelong dream, perhaps, but it’s what I do. Fortunately, I’m good at it, and though I used to say I was a better writer than an accountant, I think I may have proven myself wrong. It could be that I’m a better accountant. Or a better something that I have not yet figured out.
I have an accountant personality, which isn’t stereotypical, despite the stereotype, but I am. Forgotten when I’ve left the room, boring. This isn’t a bad thing, because it makes it possible for me to conduct covert ops without anyone suspecting me. I may be good at that, I don’t know. I have little experience with covert ops. This is the great sadness of my life. It’s one thing to say, “I want to work with numbers when I grow up!” which I never once said when growing up, another thing altogether to say, “I want to be a writer when I grow up!” which I always said, though I never really did much about it, and “I want to be a spy when I grow up!” which would enable a lot of skills I don’t possess. Other than being stealthy. My stepmother called it being a sneaky bitch, and since she was an expert in bitchiness, she would know.
She’s dead now, along with my parents, and my grandparents, and anyone who ever expected me to Make Something of Myself Despite The Odds, so there’s no one left to impress. This is just as well, since I had plenty of years to do so and never did.
Chances aren’t looking good it’s going to happen anytime soon. And this is my biggest wish: I want to not care. I want to not care that I’m marginally good at a couple of things, like books and books. And self-pity. And depression! I’m so excellent at depression. But I’m working on it. Modern pharmaceuticals are so amazing for that. (Though they aren’t enough, it’s an ongoing project with myself, I can’t count on pharmaceuticals or my natural disposition to carry me through, I have to work at it all the time, because I do not want to be in that pit – it’s dark and scary and cold, and I like the light.)
Here’s the thing. I’m a happy person. I have a great life, the best husband (EVER!), great dogs (though one is teetering on the abyss of old age and . . . well, whatever comes next), a place to live, plenty of work, mad skills, and a multitude of amazing friends, some of whom would love me even if I had no talent at all. (Which is fortunate, since I’m not altogether convinced I do have any.) Life is good.
I lost a couple of friends this past year. Not lost, as in, they died, but as in, they decided that they didn’t want anything to do with me. Which is sad . . . for them. And for me, because of course I’m going to think it’s because I’m an awful person, but I’m really not. Or am I?
I want to be that happy person and not care about the writing. I think I can manage the being happy part, it’s pretty fun being happy, but I’m still not convinced about the writing thing. As in, can I just leave it behind and do something else more rewarding? Not that writing isn’t rewarding, emotionally, but it’s mostly for me, after all, and it’s a lot of work for something that’s just for me. I’d like to do something easier that’s just for me. I’m tired of not being very good at anything in particular. I am very good at being a dog mom, and at . . . . well, books that involve numbers. And reading. I’m pretty good at reading. And cussing when necessary.
I’m rambling, which gives further evidence of my lack of focus. If I were a writer, I would need to be able to focus. My lack of focus is why I have multiple clients – I can focus on each one for a limited amount of time. But a book – that requires sustained focus on one thing, and I don’t know if I have another one in me. Parts of books, sure. I’ve got lots of parts.
For 2013, I want to work on my job, the thing that people pay me for, and I want to help people, and I want to live a happy life. And eat lots of tacos. I have a fondness for tacos. There’s so many things I want to do, things that are fun, things that are far more rewarding than writing.
I’m okay the way I am. That’s my goal for 2013 – to be okay the way I am.