Sometimes Excuses Are Truths

Sometimes Excuses Are Truths

A friend texted me last night and asked me how book #2 was coming.
It’s not, I replied.
I racked my brain searching for a reason, and I had plenty, but they all sounded like excuses. Because they are.

The truth is, life got busy. I got wrapped up in work. My family is dealing with loss. And hello turning thirty is a full-time job. Side note: why is that? Did any of you go through some type of life reevaluation in the months leading up to your thirtieth birthday? I leapt right over reevaluation and went straight into destruction and reinvention mode. It’s exhausting.

Point being, I stopped making writing a priority. Whether it was an intentional choice or not (it wasn’t), that’s the reality I’m dealing with in this moment. And I’ll be honest, I felt a tad bit annoyed that my friend was asking. How dare they make me feel guilty about this, I thought. And that’s just ludicrous. They took a special interest in me and the things I keep important. It’s my own fault if I feel guilty. And more importantly, it’s my own fault that there’s anything to feel guilty about in the first place.
At some point, I started putting everyone and everything else as a priority over myself and what I hold important. That happens sometimes; it’s called life. But when that becomes a problem is when you don’t recognize it and don’t do anything to fix it.
Oddly, I’m learning a lot about myself lately. The time I spent in Buies Creek, while lonely, served as an important benchmark I use to monitor my happiness. I might have been lonely, but I was the happiest I’ve ever been while we lived there. My marriage was in the best shape it’s ever been. The two things to recognize about that period of time are 1) I was spending a great deal of time with myself, and 2) J and I were both spending our days doing exactly what we wanted to do for work.
I’ve been unusually unhappy lately. And when I’m unhappy, I don’t write. I obsess over my emotions and drain myself of any creative juices by agonizing over how my life doesn’t feel like my own. The solution there might sound simple: spend more time with myself and spend more time writing. And yes, those absolute key elements to finding my happy.
But everything fits together like a puzzle. I’ve been taking each piece, holding it in my hand and carefully considering if it fit’s into my puzzle anymore. And maybe you’re struggling with something similar, feeling overwhelmed and like you’ve lost control over your life.
I’d like to encourage you to do the same. Take each piece of your life, analyze it. Ask yourself if it serves a purpose or brings you joy. Don’t get confused over whether its served a purpose, that’s not the question being asked here. The question is is it currently serving a purpose. If the answer is no, reevaluate. Consider other pieces, ones that might not be a part of your current puzzle and ask yourself if maybe that piece fits better.
For me, my puzzle will always be filled with writing, connecting, running, alone time, and my marriage. The other pieces? Well, those just come and go.