a letter to myself

Yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had this year. I was hired by a British production company to be a PA for the day while they worked on a documentary about the girls with tics from Leroy (serious generalization). Still, even though I was only hired as a PA, I got to meet and speak with several people who really cleared things up for me in my mind (yup – even I need myself explained to myself).

Basically, I finally heard that you make your own destiny. That you choose your own fate. I’ve believed it to be true for some time but was having severe difficulty figuring out what it meant for me. What am I supposed to do? How can I make my life better? I realized I’ve been relying on other people to see what I’m capable of and to hand over what I want. How does anyone get through life like that? It’s easy – they don’t.

At first I was thinking a more vigorous and expanded job search was what I needed. While I still intend to do that, I’ve also realized that, for me, I need to write. Seriously. Yeah, yeah – I’ve been saying it since September of last year but I was fixated on this idea that to be any good, to be taken seriously, I needed to complete a novel. Well, nearly a year and at least 8 started novels later, I have nothing to show for my endless free time that is unemployment. That makes me feel even worse about myself and has made me question my capabilities and my worth (which if you’ve ever done that, you’ll know it’s a slippery slope to depression).

I decided to approach todya as the day I start cleaning up my life, starting quite literally in my home and garden (baby steps, folks). Guess what? A great thing happened as I was weeding yet another neglected garden bed (metaphor for my life? Probably). I decided to finally listen to both my husband and my mother in the same thought bubble. *GASP*

Husband says, “Take the ideas you’ve already started on papers found all over this house and finish them as short stories.”

Mother says, “You need to write a book about Eddie.”

By the time I got out of the bed and washed the dirt from my knees, I had a children’s book about Eddie written in my head. I even had the illustrations thought out thanks to a cartoon rendering I had in my mind from my sister-in-law.

I’m ready to stop making excuses for myself and start living my life. Who’s with me?

PS Be patient. Bad things can happen on good days. Yes, you love sweet tea but you’re an adult and understand you can’t put boiling water into a cold glass pitcher. Also, remember to clean under and behind the microwave more often. G-ross.

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About Miss Em

I'm Emily, he's Jerry. Newly wed but long together, homeowners since 2006, one child in cat form.
This entry was posted in Accidents Happen, Dear Eddie, It's Personal. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to a letter to myself

  1. Sarah says:

    I love you Emily. I am so glad to hear this positive outlook from you. And I can’t wait to read your first short story/children’s book.

  2. Cate says:

    I love you. You can do it.

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