The struggles I have found with finishing my novel have been so many that they might be a new novel. And once I get this one back from my editor I just might try it. After all my screen play was about my twenties, maybe It's time for a novel about my forties.
The last seven years have been full of ups and downs romantically, three men have come into my life and left. Mr. Practical, Mr. Hopeful and Mr. Charisma. Mr. Practical and I are still very close friends and writing partners, he really is a treasure. And Mr. Hopeful and I are working on a friendship, if he can avoid his jealous streak. Mr. Charisma, I hope falls off a cliff. Learning that "I love you" usually means "I lust you" and rarely means what you think it means, unless said by children.
A huge move from a medium sized city of Oktoberfest lovers to the Windy City, in my fifties. A population shock reversal from leaving the city at the foot of Pikes Peak for a town that love the Rutabaga, almost thirty years ago.
A life style and life changing career. After tying on many jobs in clerical and sales industry and hating almost all of them I stumbled into something that I not only love but am very, very good at. With the right minded parents, which is vital as a nanny.
Oh and the 'big change' which gave me twenty pounds and the ability to not really care what anyone thinks anymore and really cool blue and purple hair. Thanks menopause. So I think the weight gain is worth it. Besides I can lose the weight. I don't want to lose the perception.
The mental breakthrough (breakdown?) I needed to face the work I've done, and will continue to do which has brought about the end to depression and much more controllable anxiety.
Really learning to enjoy my own company, not just saying it. And embrace the half of my personality that is introvert while occasionally letting out my extrovert. I believe the new term for that is ambivert. But whatever.
And the ability to juggle money the way a clown juggles balls. With practiced expertise and the knowledge of one thing going wrong and the whole thing falls apart. Like knitting. Which I also learned how to do.
I wrote one screenplay and submitted it to project Green Light, making the last cut from over 5000 entries before finally cut myself in the last 100. A play which I'm not very happy with except for a few concepts and maybe a character or two. So not. And a fantasy novel which I'm very proud of from a story of a long time ago in my head. Which many of you heard while I was kicking around ideas and which none of those made it to the actual story. The way it goes in a writers head.
And finally how to be a really good friend and sometimes tell my friends the truth or 'no' and not change myself to 'buy' their affections, but rather cut them lose and find friends that accept me for who I am. Not who they want me to be or to use. This goes for romance as well. Which was a very hard lesson to learn, and took me three divorces and three failed romances to figure out. Or at least admit. Going back to the 'enjoying my own company' bit, but sometimes we think we need someone to complete us. Or make us a better person. Or make life worth living because you have someone to share it with. All of this may be true for us as humans. I believe you do need physical hugs to be happy, but I don't believe I need a man to complete me or make me a better person or make my experiences worth something because of a witness. I used to use these excuses when depressed about being single. "If only I had someone to share it with" or "He makes me want to be a better me." or "We're like one person or halves of the same identity." YUCK. Kind of makes me sick now to think how hopeless a romantic I was. And to understand that alone, I'm not only more successful financially but way more emotionally.
Sometimes we need to learn to stop chasing society imprinted dreams. And really delve into our own personalities to know ourselves enough chase our own dreams. And then make them reality. Did the drama of my life so far, stop my writing? No, but it sure slowed it down until I started to really see who I had become and not liking her, change. Seven years of waking up and trying on hats. Hats that didn't always fit, but were awfully pretty in the window. Now my hat is of my own design and I'm a better person for it. Being able to write again after decades of not even thinking of myself as a writer anymore, has been a great gift. And one I hope will never again be suffocated by what everyone expects of me. But made to grow now that it's what I expect of me. And my opinion of myself is all that matters.
Just like for you.
Cheers.
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