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We do.
It’s only normal. Sometimes I wonder why we’re called human beings. I don’t know about you but when I wake up in the morning, I hit the ground doing.
Really, I’m still in the bed when I open up Flipboard, Twitter and Feedly. Some miracle of God has finally taught me not to open email before noon, unless I have a very specific reason. But I write and tweet and meet and chat and research. Barely slowed at lunch until recently.
I was truly a bad bitch back when Google calendar used to send you a text as a meeting reminder.
Somewhere along the way I have forgotten to be.
I want to be.
So you’re thinking now that I’m about to say some shit about how I need to start meditating again or read some Tony Robbins to try and get my life together.
Work and professional goals aren’t my focus right now though. I’m great at my work and love what I do, most of it. But like so many entrepreneurs, the small business I started was supposed to be something I did to get me out of financial holes and provide me a living until.
Until my writing career took off. Even though I hardly ever write something that isn’t for work. Two years ago when I almost died of pneumonia, there were a lot of things I changed about my life, but I didn’t quite get back into writing the way I should have.
I made some attempts. Very well received attempts now that I think about it.
But the fear.
It’s very different from fear about whether or not a project I’m doing will or won’t work. I know businesses need marketing help. I know I can find a niche or change niches, even invent a niche. Because I’m convinced of my talents and their value to society.
But when it comes to my writing, which really fulfills me in every possible way? No matter how many compliments I get, no many how many no-really-Tinu sit-downs friends have with me to get my writing shit together, to finish and release my novels instead of just passing early releases around to friends?
I just haven’t seemed to be able to believe in my abilities and talents to the extent that they could feed me.
What’s different now is the possibility that I’m out running out of time. If I believed in prognosis numbers, the average person in my condition survived another 6 – 9 years after being diagnosed.
For all I know the treatment itself could kill me. Do I really want to be laid to rest with magic still inside me?
Hell no.
There’s no point to being alive if you don’t aspire to LIVING
I’ve made this pledge before and haven’t followed through. I’m starting with this blog and I’m going to make some kind of income with these words. It’s not so much about the money as it is… time constraint.
There’s not enough time in the day – especially my illness-mandated half-days- to write the way I need to be writing in order to make something of it AND continue to rise to the level of best in my profession.
So I have to write more and market for other people less. I was already switching back from a client based business to a class/infoproduct based business. Maybe I’ll end up writing on the side and just have monthly patrons. That would be okay.
But the plan is to take everything I’ve learned in the years since I was told of my potential to be a writer whose words Matter. And be that person.
Really be.
Really be ALIVE.