Thursday, September 04, 2014

Late blooming Real

Again with the I read somewhere (I obviously need to keep better track of what and where I read it), but I read somewhere recently that there is this whole plethora of people who are blooming late. I'm not talking about getting boobs or pubic hair, I'm talking about figuring out some passion or some talent that has perhaps lay dormant or even not been realized at all.

Of course I was all over this in my mind, it would be the answer to all my angst, the ha, the this-will-make-it-all-turn-out. The reason it will have never mattered that I got lost in the world of restaurants for so many years. The way I will say, yes, I was writing for a few years and then I had this third baby and we just love her, but of course it made it hard to have it all, nahnahnah. Because while I know that I was lost and struggling for all of my twenties and then decided to Take Charge and make all those stupid waitressing shifts Mean Something by really getting into it, really caring and really doing a good job at being a restaurant person, I know that always I was supposed to be writing and if I wasn't writing I was just sort of faking it that it didn't matter.

For sure I can do other shit. I can serve food, perhaps not anymore, but the detour in the fries with that world was not wasted, in that I now love cooking and eating. Two important things in my world. And I am pretty good at organizing things, like big things. Fundraisers and meals for a few hundred, awards shows and luncheons. Conferences. Interesting note to self: why am I good at organizing a three course sit down dinner for 200 and flying in speakers, but I can't seem to stay on top of the laundry? Ah, yes, good point. Because it's boring as HELL, that's why.

But what I'm good at is writing, and what I love, is writing, and when I'm my best version of myself, the one I only let out on Tuesdays and alternating Thursdays (kidding) is when I'm writing.

Now I don't just mean this, this blogging stuff. This is cool, this is fine, but it makes me terribly nervous and I'm not quite sure yet what the point is. I mean, just scratching the surface here, dipping a toe in, but putting stuff out there in public is a nerve wracking and scary thing for me and I'm forcing myself to do it to hold myself accountable to Become that late bloomer, that one where by the time I'm 51 I can fill in the blank somewhere under occupation, writer. I know, it's crazy, isn't it? 51.

Anyways what I meant there by the I'm my best version of myself when I'm writing is that I'm writing pretty much all day long. Thought pops into my head? I write it down. Lovely sentence? Write it down. Question for later? Need bananas? Pay bills? I write it all down, in a hodge-podge mess in a cool notebook (ahem, I wrote about the notebook, even) and once it clears the gate in my mind I can relax. I can let it go, if I need to (a worry or a round-and-round thought, I get those and they make me stew too much to keep them) or keep them, if I need to (the endless List of shit I have to get done, that if it isn't written down circles around me like vultures wanting to peck my eyes out...that may seem extreme but that's really how I feel. So even though I haven't I still feel as though I lost weight, because the thoughts and worries and words that float, untethered, are now grounded and made real (kind of Velveteen Rabbit style) and I am, if not weightless, lighter.


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