Writing Again

I’m writing again. I tried this blog thing a while back, and it lasted about two years. Which is longer than I’ve committed to most jobs I’ve taken. That sounds like a joke, but it’s painfully true. 

I just kept choosing the wrong career paths, I suppose. Or maybe I knew they were wrong all along and just took them because someone offered to pay me every other week and cover my health insurance. They even threw in two weeks vacation (which is honestly like no time) and a 401k – which even though I didn’t know what it was at the time sounded like I had my ish together.

And the worst part is, these jobs I’d accepted – they are the reason I stopped writing. I would get up at 6 in the morning, terribly cranky because… well, it was 6 in the morning. I would drink my coffee and get ready for the day. My husband would leave for work before I would. I would kiss him goodbye and say “Call me at lunch,” as if he weren’t going to. As if he didn’t call me at lunch every Monday through Friday because it was the only smidgen of free time we had in our day. I would then finish getting ready and make sure the pets had been fed and glare at them with envy because they got to stay home all day. I swear I could rule the world if I had all the free time my pets have. But they will never rule the world because they are lazy. Especially my cat, Tony.

Following the moments of bitterness towards my cat and dog, I would get in my car with my packed lunch because.. budget. And I would drive the 25-30 minute commute to my office. I would sit in the car for a moment and – just kidding I was usually late, so I would immediately dash through the parking lot in my high heels, which I had no business wearing in the first place because that’s how people sprain ankles. And I would make it through the front doors just in time to yell “Base!” And by ‘yell’ I mean silently say to myself. Because though I wasn’t quite on the clock, I was in the building which if you think about it, is kind of equivalent to tagging base when you are a child playing hide-and-seek. No one could say I was late because dang it, I had tagged base before 8:00.

And it’s not like anyone important was there yet anyway. You think the CEO gets there at 8:00? Heckkkkkkkkk no. When you’re the CEO, you get to come in when you want and and leave when you want. THAT’S WHY WE ALL WANT TO BE THE CEO. 

I would catch my breath (from the mad sprint to base) as I walked to my desk. I would say “Hi” to other co-workers who looked as thrilled as I did to be there. “Another Monday, eh Chuck?” said one to a second. “Have a good weekend, Martha?” another would ask. Martha would then reminisce on her weekend at the lake house and we would all stare longingly into the distance wishing we were there instead of in that cold, mundane office. *Chuck and Martha are not real people I worked with. I can’t put real names because people get upset about these sorts of things.

We would then do monotonous work until our lunch breaks, which were one hour. And Lord forbid I stayed gone longer than an hour. Then we would try really hard to get anything done in the afternoon, but once you’ve had that little one-hour glimpse of freedom it’s difficult to get anything done. Plus you get that weird sleepy spell around 2:30 every day and try to figure out a way to nap at your desk with no one noticing. 

Then 4:00 rolled around and well, let’s just face it. 4 is practically 5 so I would spend the next hour procrastinating because it would just be plum silly to begin something new that late in the day. And when 5:00 hit, it was like that feeling you got when you were a kid on the last day of school before summer vacation. You want to throw your papers down the hall and stand on your desk shouting, “FREEEEEEEEEDOMMMMMMMM!” But you also don’t want to have to clean up those papers or for people to stare at you in a snarky manner when you return at 8 tomorrow morning, so you quietly pack up your belongings and speed walk to the parking lot. You never run because then people will get suspicious about how much in a hurry you were to leave. You just speed walk as though you have a very important engagement to be at in the next few minutes.

Then I would fight the traffic – ugh the traffic – to get home and finally shed that hostage-like feeling that came upon me earlier in the day. I would go for a run and cook dinner and do dishes and speak to my husband and do all the things I couldn’t do when I was at work. Before I knew it, the sun would set as day turned to dusk, and the exhaustion would settle in. And any “me” time be it for writing or reading or editing videos drifted away with the final remaining rays of sunshine. The day was done. And tomorrow, I knew I had to get up and do it all over again. And that is a sad, sad glimpse into the end of my former blog. 

But not anymore.

A friend asked me recently, how my media business was going. I told her it was doing very well, and she said “Great! So that’s the dream, right? To run Moore Media Group full time?”

To my own surprise I immediately said “Of course that’s not the dream. It’s just something I enjoy and that people will pay me to do.”

She looked confused. “Then… what is the dream?”

Without thinking I said, “Well, to write a book. That’s always been the dream. I’ve just never had time.”

And for the last several weeks that conversation has haunted me a bit. “I just never have time for my dream.” What a disheartening thought. It’s my dream. I have to have time for it. Or else younger me will be immensely disappointed with grown-up me. 

So I am starting to write again.

I don’t really know the logistics to publishing a book and such but I know writing is a requirement. And if I can’t even find time to write a blog post every now and then, how am I supposed to find time to write a book? 

So here it is. My first post back. I hope to do this regularly. And I hope it is fun for both you and me. I also hope that if you have a dream you have neglected for far too long, you have a friend who will have coffee with you and ask you, “what is the dream?” Because those friends are truly extraordinary. And so are your dreams.