Posted on Apr 25, 2015 in Blog
A week ago I hosted a Steel City Stories evening. It was a great deal of fun. At one point, one of the storytellers mentioned how she’d once had a conversation with me where I said something along the lines of loneliness is part of the writing life, and hearing it from her–as in, my words spoken back to me from someone else’s mouth–made me feel odd. Almost terrible. Like being flashed in terrible, if only for a moment. Sometimes I forget how glib one can be with true things.

Had a Skype conversation with my dearest friend in all the world a few nights ago. We have decided that I need something to look forward to. Is that so terrible, this plotting and scheming so that one might have things to work towards? For the past few years I’ve felt so guilty about how I squandered my twenties. It doesn’t feel like squandering on the one hand–how much I learned about myself during those twenties, how much I hurt and loved and felt and read and was–but when you’re up against the reality of trying to regain financial stability and paying down debt and staying in a job you do not love because it probably pays more than you will ever make doing the thing that you do love–well, it feels like squandering now.

And so I find myself feeling guilty about AWP, despite how much I loved it, guilty about wanting to book another trip now, and soon, guilty about wanting to pick up and start a new life somewhere else because who has money for all of this? Certainly not me.

You had more experience in your twenties than a lot of people have in their lifetimes, another friend said to me a while ago. Now you get to pay for that. Consider yourself lucky to have had that at all.

I am paying, I understand that. The cup cannot runneth over forever. But meanwhile I am not writing, I am not playing, I am not dreaming the way that I used to, the way that used to say this will be hard, but you can do it. Now I look at things and I think: it isn’t worth it, anymore.

I am so terrified of a life that just shrinks away under the guise of responsibility. Paying debt and working hard and sleeping because you have no energy for anything else and your world keeps getting smaller, smaller, smaller until it just isn’t there anymore.

So. I need something else to look forward to.

Universe, please pry me open, is what I am saying.


1 Comment

  1. Steph
    April 26, 2015

    I find it not only perversely beautiful that we are living such parallel lives emotionally and mentally but also extremely frustrating. On one hand I desperately wish we lived much closer together so we could comfort and help each other. On the other hand, I think when two people are in the same mental and emotional state, would they not just pull each other down? And then helplessness and hopelessness engulf me.

    This morning, C said, maybe instead of thinking about this all the time and expressing it and focusing on it, thinking you are trying to help yourself, maybe you need a hobby. Maybe you're bored. Maybe you need some goals…

    And I thought, I can't think of a hobby that wouldn't be mindless. I never make goals because I feel certain I'll disappoint myself. Those ideas suck. Pinterest is my hobby. I want to move to England.

    Your thoughts are my thoughts, your feelings my feelings. I truly understand. You are not alone. And all that junk. xoxoxo