As a writer, I know that it’s very easy to procrastinate. I’ve been really good about working regularly and diligently… Until life happened and I missed a deadline for the first time ever. Well, technically, I haven’t missed it yet — it’s April 22 — but I will. I’ve already told my team, and set another date. I hate doing it, but it was the only solution.
What happened? Well, first I went to Uganda. I did get a lot of blog posts done there, and some editing, but I didn’t get my regular writing done. When I got back, I worked, but we were also starting to get our house ready to list, and I spent a lot of time in mid to late March packing up boxes of books and other miscellaneous stuff. Over Easter, we went on a hybrid work/vacation trip, and I didn’t get very much done, just some editing on the plane. When we got back, I went into full time house-mode, getting ready for our yard sale on that Saturday and then for our house to be ready to list this past Friday. I made it, barely.
In the middle of all that, I injured a tendon in my right elbow (which led to the discovery that I’m not at all ambidextrous), my husband had oral surgery, and my son cracked two bones in his wrist. The latter two of these was just last week… Friday I had a cortisone injection in said elbow, which was supposed to help the pain. I had a bad reaction and had a lot more pain until last night. Today it seems to be much better, and everyone else is doing well. There is a nice, restful vibe in the house at the moment (plus it’s really clean and uncluttered, which is awesome!).
So, this is the life of a writer. Backhanded by life, and given a choice. Do we add to our stress by trying to get everything done, perhaps doing a poor job in the process, or do we just acknowledge that we’re not winning this battle? I used to operate by the motto “get it done, dammit!” Over the last couple of years, I’ve learned that the world is not going to tip off its axis if I don’t. I know… it’s hard to fathom. But it’s true!
One of the good things about getting older is that we’re able to look at things a bit more honestly and realistically. We’re a little better at prioritizing. We’ve been through crises before, survived, wrote about them in a novel, and moved on. We can be more forgiving of our shortcomings. We know that we can move through whatever life throws at us. We don’t panic, or at least not as easily.
Tomorrow I’ll be 48. I’m not going to make my deadline. I’m cool with that. Plus, we’re going out for sushi at the best place in the state. How bad can life be?