I’m stuck in my tracks.  I’m moving forward but at a glacial pace.  And not exactly in the direction I was hoping for.  And the only person I have to blame is myself.

When my time was my own, I was a master of it.  I ceased the opportunities that weren’t even in front of me.  I put them in front of myself.  I made them happen.  And the funny thing is, I still have that power.  And so do you.  But instead I’ve curled back into myself.  I’m complacent and that’s not okay.

I keep telling myself I’m waiting for the right moment.  I keep saying I’m waiting for the right inspiration.  It’ll come when it’ll come.  But the truth is, like with most things, you have to make it the right time.

I never felt more in place or more like myself than when I was tackling the book last year.  I woke up with purpose to my days and felt so fulfilled at the end of the day despite the exhaustion.  I didn’t allow myself any excuses.  I squashed the fear that constantly bubbled up and dove in.  I stood on a ledge or two that I needed to be talked off of, but for the most part I knew what I was doing was the right thing.

I am good at my day job.  I’ve always been strangely good with kids, but this age group is my place.  I didn’t know it but my husband did.  And he guided me into this job.  It’s all the blessings that I knew it would be.  I fit.  And it works.  It got us out of Buies Creek.  It got us into this apartment where life blossomed before my very eyes.  It brought a part of me back to life.

But this new life has set me off balance.  I’ve taken every excuse and worn them like an armor fighting against the things that scare me.  A security blanket.  

The funny thing is, I’m a master at doing what I’m told (I’m pretty sure my parents are laughing out there somewhere. har har).  Someone says jump, and I do my best to jump higher than they expected.    But lately I’ve been having trouble respecting myself in that same way.  When you’re at the start of something, it’s hard to identify yourself in a certain way.

Last night I came into the living room and told J I wrote an article for an online magazine and that it was being published today.  I’m a writer! I exclaimed and then realized how stupid that sounded.  I know, I wrote a whole freaking book.  I should know I’m a writer.  But this part of me is always something I’ve struggled with.  You all know it.  And I know it.

I guess there isn’t much point to all of this except to say that I have to think that we are all constantly battling something.  Everyone has something right?  We put on our brave faces and face the world like we have it all together but behind closed doors the we shrink down in front of the monsters.