This excuse comes up often when I think about my writing.
The thing is love to write. I always have. In almost any form (sorry poetry). I take my time writing emails, thank you notes, lists. I dabbled in some (cringeworthy) fiction in high school. Writing papers in college was almost always fun, albeit usually last minute. Nowadays creative nonfiction is my game.
But with a marriage to live, kids to chase around and sustain, a job I love and sleep so elusive...writing seems hard to fit into the mix. So when people ask about my writing, I say things like, "who's got the time?" And they laugh and they believe me because, well, it's a believable lie.
But a lie it is. It's not that I don't have the time. It's that I'm choosing to spend it doing other things. Sometimes of value and sometimes notsomuch (yeah, I keep up with those Kardashians).
A favorite professor brought up this point in a class many moons ago, balking at the "I don't have time to write" excuse. Because he knew the truth: if we want to do something enough, we make the time. He was a smart guy, and referred to Springsteen as "the great philosopher" so I knew he was the real deal, and I think about his point often when I'm lying about having no time for this or that.
The fact of the matter is this: we've all got twenty four hours in or day. It's up to us how to use them.
So I'm being conscious with my time. Purposeful in how I choose to use it. Or trying to be. Does it mean I'm writing as much as I want to be? Not yet. Because sometimes I choose other things. And that's cool. Like today I was waiting for Sam to fall asleep at nap, my newly designated writing time, and I looked at him and thought: he's so cute and his bed is so warm and my sleep so nonexistent. It took me only a moment to choose, because in that moment a nap with him was/is more important than an hour of writing.
I don't regret it. But I'm making up for it now. Because I've got the time.
No comments:
Post a Comment