Then again, I worry too much

The wisdom you gain from growing older manifests primarily in the ability to notice your own behaviour triggers and adapting around them. I know now that if the world is a weepy place full of unstoppable sadness for no particular reason, then I am actually really, REALLY tired and I need to go to bed. Instead of spending hours moping and trying in frustration to find a solution to the phantom problem, I should just hit the hay and take another run at things tomorrow.

The new warning sign I’m figuring out right now is the sense of bewilderment and panic evidenced in the previous post. That mood is somewhat fueled by uncertainty, but the real cause is that I haven’t been writing. If I dismiss my writing work simply because it’s terribly unprofitable right now, I’m missing out on the best skill that I have. Novel writing is my profession. I like doing it, I’m good at it and I get better at it with every hour that I work on it. There’s no point in focusing on the revenue it isn’t generating right now, because that is A) out of my control and B) pointlessly discouraging.  So next time I start running around crying about jobs and money et al, I’ll simmer down and grab a pen and paper instead. We’ll see how that works.

In semi-related news, the return to preschool is going very well for both the little dude and I. I was worried that I would be overcome with parental loneliness once he started spending 3 full days at preschool, but the opportunity to write and blog and research and be an independent adult during the day has banished any sadness. And he’s taking to it like a champ. There was a small speed bump on the first day, when he woke up from a small nap at preschool. Max and I share a common, sullen mood when it comes to waking up from a nap, and I don’t think he has ever had to weather the unpleasantness of waking up without me or the wife being on hand to supply comfort and juice, so there was some prolonged afternoon sadness on his part. But, the next day, we brought a sleep toy with us to pre-school, and Max reported after school that he didn’t have any tears. Now we’re on day 3 and there was no before school upset. He practically ran into class to start his day and had to be reminded to give mom a smooch. Now we’re 30 minutes away from the end of class, and no call from the school, so I’m going to declare another successful school day.

I know a lot of stay-at-home parents hit an identity crisis when their kids go off to school and the parents are left trying to remember what they did with their productive time in the days before child. I’m very lucky that I have my writing to fall back into, and it is fantastic to be able to use my creative brain during the day when it’s full of fresh, wordy energy.

I really don’t know what I’m doing

Are we all in the same boat here, full of a sense that we can accomplish more than we are, but no idea on how to practically achieve it? I’m going through this phase in life a little late (or a lot, depending on my optimism/pessimism levels) and maybe everyone else has already dealt with this feeling when they were in high school or university, and the rest of you have made peace with the tools you have on hand and your ability to build with them.  For me, it’s like I’ve woken up from a coma and I now have a brain full of exciting goals and dreams, but my withered coma body isn’t up to the tasks I’m presenting it.

Ego plays a huge part in all of this: I want to be in the cool kids club with the leaders and thinkers and visionaries, no matter how little experience I actually have, or the quality of contribution I can bring to the table. It’s pretty demoralizing when you want to help the people around you and your community but you don’t really know how.

Okay, the above statement is both maudlin and inaccurate. Blame senor Ego again. I do know how to help out. But I want to help out in the bigger and more impressive ways, like being a board member at a not-for-profit. The trouble is, I don’t have the skill set these boards need, and I know that. It will all take time and effort. I can’t help but glare glumly into the past at the younger version of myself and mutter about his lack of success. If young me had finished university, how much farther ahead would current me be?

The trouble with that kind of logic is that it assumes that the younger versions of me were capable of doing more than they did, when that’s not a fair assessment. My brain was a pretty sad mess for most of high school, a swirling mix of low self-esteem, social anxiety and a total lack of personal responsibility. That fog was extended and worsened by a five-year (give or take) enthusiastic drinking habit. It has been a long, difficult process of managing to function and thrive despite the brain mess, and things are much, much better.

Now that I’m paying attention to the world around me and trying to be a better all-around citizen, I’m hitting the limits of the amount of information I can process. No matter how earnest and engaged I am, I just can’t assimilate a comprehensive understanding of civic issues at the municipal, provincial, federal and international levels at the same time. My poor brain is aching. Do I like standardized testing? Is my opinion on the Shared Services plan well-informed? Do I even care if there are ad banners on the railway bridges? Is my stance on Israel fair and balanced? Ack! I don’t know! I’m just a poor author.

Speaking of artistic poverty, there’s this cheery piece of dream-crushing: http://www.locusmag.com/Perspectives/2011/09/cory-doctorow-why-should-anyone-care/

The author is a guy who has been doing this for a while, so he’s got the street cred. I know that the odds of my first book making a giant pile of cash are hilariously bad, but I really want to hold to the (reasonable?) hope that I can eke out a subsistence living by continuing to write and publish novels. I don’t want diamond shoes or anything, but would it be too much to ask to make enough to remove money stress from my life? I’m not talking a large sum of money here-when you work out the hours I spend on writing, it would probably come out to about a full-time minimum wage. Oh well. I can’t control who buys my book. I can only control the creation process.

Massive Cuts at Dad Co. !!!!!!

MadeUp News – The workforce at Dad Co. has been given notice that, as of September 6th, they will be transitioned to a part-time basis, working only Mondays and Fridays. A company spokesman was quoted as saying “it’s a definite shift in our workload, but the consumer demand just isn’t there. Our primary client has decided to use another service provider for Tuesday to Thursday, and we can’t offer a competing package.” Reaction from the workforce has been generally sad and mopey, with muttered talk of “my boy is growing up so quickly” and questions about “who will make sure he eats his lunchtime vegetable?” filling the air of the Dad Co. Factory.

 

translation: Max goes back to preschool tomorrow, and this year, he’s going for 3 full days a week. For the first time in 2 years, I won’t be there during lunchtime. For some reason, that’s the part that I’m hung up on-his new level of sandwich autonomy.

I know that he’s going to enjoy going back to school. In fact, he’s been asking about school for the last few weeks, after he reached a state of boredom with our summer routine. My boy’s a social butterfly, and he’s looking forward to having new friends to play with. And it will be good for me as well, giving me time during business hours to try to make money, while also plugging away at my next novel.

But like every parent before me, I can’t help but be sad at the march of time, since that march leads him towards independence and away from me. Last year, I couldn’t fathom reaching this point in time. I thought it was so far away that it would never actually happen, but here we are. Next year he’ll be at the real deal, full day junior kindergarten. Sniffle.

I’m very grateful that I’m able to be at home, spending Mondays and Fridays with him, and being able to pick him up at 3PM after school.  I sincerely hope that I can find some kind of reliable income source that will allow us to keep me here, though I realize how challenging it’s going to be to find some kind of job that will fit within the hours I have available (nevermind my continual battle with the lack of credentials on my CV. Curse you, lack of employer-enticing accomplishments!) So, dear universe, if you were planning to throw some cash my way, this would be a fine and dandy time to do so. I promise that I’ll keep trying to make the world a better place, and I won’t buy even one giant foam cowboy hat.