“All I’ve ever wanted is to be a writer” is a sentence I’m sure I and many other writers have uttered throughout life, and it’s true but also not true.
There was a time in childhood when I watched the movie SpaceCamp over and over and over again and then was taken to the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C. where I doubled down on my dream.
I took home posters of the Milky Way and a Space Shuttle pointing at the sky, its bottom engulfed in the flames from the rockets about to take them away.
I want to go, too… I thought to myself then.
Didn’t everyone want to be an astronaut at some point?
Didn’t every kid want to explore the ancient sites of Egypt, or carefully move dirt in the Badlands to find dinosaur bones?
Wasn’t every child swept up in wonder at the sight of the ocean, curious to know all the secrets beneath its waves?
Try to tell me you didn’t at some point in your childhood want to be a marine biologist, or an archaeologist, or a pilot, or a movie star.
I’ve had lots of dreams – dreams that I have pursued, dreams I’ve lost hope or given up on, and dreams that I just can’t let go despite their constant struggles and setbacks and signs that they won’t work out.
Once, I wanted to be someone amazing.
Now, I just want to get by and have enough space left in my life to keep that dream of writing for a living alive.
I feel like there just isn’t enough time, for anything.
I wake up and do the things I need to do to get ready for work.
I go to work and do the things I need to do to remain employed and earn money.
I go home and do the things I need to do to keep life running for everyone.
I have to grocery shop, I have to do laundry, I have to remain vigilant on knowing how many rolls of toilet paper are left in the bathroom at any given time, and I have to make sure I pay the bills before they’re due.
But I have to take care of myself, too.
I have to make at least a small attempt to get the nutrition I need from the crap I eat. I have to take showers and wash my hair regularly so people don’t think I’m gross or just giving up.
I have to give myself the time to journal.
At the very fucking least, I need a half hour a day to decompress and write out my thoughts and feelings, because I’m afraid if I don’t express my truths to anyone or anything, eventually, I’ll explode.
This is my life now.
This is it.
The things I used to do for fun… Fuck.
It makes me sad to think of why I am not doing them anymore.
I’ve always been obsessed with paper, so I had a scrapbooking stage that thankfully didn’t last that long because it’s fucking expensive.
Then, I saw online how fun and easy looking it was to make jewelry, so I dove into that headfirst and opened an Etsy store that never sold a damn thing.
After that, I taught myself how to crochet on YouTube and did that for years.
If I liked you, you got a scarf for Christmas, and if I loved you, you got an afghan.
Crocheting was great because since I only knew one simple stitch, I could crochet and watch TV at the same time; so that was nice, that it didn’t make me feel like I was wasting time.
Meeting Bobby changed everything.
I hadn’t been in a relationship for years.
I didn’t think I ever would have one again.
Then I met a guy, fell in love, and since then our relationship has consumed almost my whole life.
I’m not complaining about that.
The point is, I suppose, that what I want to be doing more than anything else is spending time with him.
I don’t care what we’re doing, it’s never mattered.
I just want his company and his love.
It’s not that I’ve outgrown or lost interest in the hobbies I used to have, the little crafty things I did, or the way I spent my time being creative in ways other than writing.
It’s just that those things (literally) take up so much space and so much time.
And there’s so little time, isn’t there?
I can’t pick up a ball of yarn now without feeling both guilt and shame.
I feel like I am wasting my time doing something that doesn’t matter, and it makes me ashamed because it’s taking time away from the two things I’m most passionate about – and I don’t want to waste any time on those anymore.
My time should be dedicated to the things that make me feel good about myself, and make me feel like I am not just doing something for the sake of doing it, but doing it to make my life better.
Like I said, I didn’t exactly outgrow or lose interest in my old hobbies, I just realized that other things in life are more important to prioritize.
Maybe that’s just growing up and being an adult.
We do the best we can with what little time we have.
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