Those of you who don’t know me might wonder what it is I actually do for a living since lately my blog has become a random batter of topics from gardening to procrastination, and my tweets consist mainly of what I’ve spilled on my desk that day. I thought I understood what my career was and always would be until recently, when I was hit by what I suspected was a wave of food poisoning. Turns out it was just a mild case of inspiration. (Apparently, both involve sleepless nights and nausea.)
I was pretty creative as a child. My mom used to tell stories about the interesting “art” projects I cobbled together out of leaves and crayons; and once I went door to door selling tickets to a puppet show that hadn’t even been produced yet. (Perhaps I should have become a mortgage lender.) So it was no surprise when I decided to study graphic design. I’ve been a designer for pretty much my entire adult life—and I imagine I’ll never stop—but I’ve recently begun feeling a pull to do something else, which is the cause of all this queasiness.
For no clear reason I’ve started holding events, monkeying around with writing and just being kind of different than normal. But as I said to a friend on Twitter recently, “Normal is relative in social media.” The fascinating and talented people I’ve met via social media have inspired me to think outside my little designer’s brain and experiment with dreaming big. The thing with dreams though is that they often take a while to digest and make sense. Plus, mine usually involve tornadoes and cake, but that’s an issue best left to a professional in the mental health field.
Since I have a terrible sense of direction, it’s hardly surprising that I have no idea which path to follow right now, but I’m not afraid of taking a wrong turn here or there. I’ll just continue cruising around in circles, trying to avoid tornadoes until I find my way. Should be a piece of cake.
The other day I wrote a short, disposable post about being the Worst Blogger Ever. Surprisingly, it received quite a bit of comment traffic from several inspiring friends, including @myerman, @momof5cuties, @JulieGomoll, @jenztweets, @slavetofashion, @NataliaSylv, @luannsaid (comic relief) and @midnightferret. Now, I’m not one for letting small rodent-like creatures (or Tom) define myself as a writer, but I found the back and forth to be rather enlightening.
The common thread seemed to be, “Weenie, get off your ass already!” Unsurprising to anyone who’s met me, this is not the first time I’ve received such advice; including from my mother, who also chimed in. I’ve written about my struggle with perfectionism before, and it seems to be a consistent theme in my professional life. If only I could replace this theme with motivation, drive or gold doubloons.
Because I understand that I live in reality (which puts me just this side of sane), I must accept my neurosis as a transparent disguise for my fear of failure. That said, what’s the worst that could happen? Nobody reads my posts? People talk about me behind my back? And if people talk behind my back, surely it will be about something more interesting; like perhaps my tendency to forget to zip my pants when I go grocery shopping (which I did again today). It’s not like satellites will fall from the sky if my blog is mediocre (or even if my fly’s open).
So, here I go. I’m writing. Do you see me? I’m writing. Look, Mom—I’m writing!
I’d still rather have the doubloons.
For those of you keeping track (and I know your numbers are impressive), this is my first post since #BlogathonATX occurred nearly a month ago. I have no excuse. I love to write, but everything else seems to fill in the hours, and I never find the time to do it. Once again I’m reminded that I can’t just wait for time to magically appear; I need to MAKE time. How do I go about doing that? Well, here are a few thoughts I’ve had:
1. Stock up on 5-Hour Energy shots.
2. Stop watching Law & Order reruns.
3. Move refrigerator from the kitchen to under my desk.
4. Teach the poodle to use the toilet.
5. Stop organizing blogging events.
Of these options, the most realistic one is probably moving the fridge, but the mister might take issue with that (and the poodle is pretty small and flushable). I’m open to other suggestions. Anyone?