For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in a hurry.
A hurry to get done with high school.
A hurry to find a boyfriend.
A hurry to get done with college.
A hurry to get married.
A hurry to have a baby.
A hurry to get a book published.
Y’know what? I’m tired of being in a hurry. And for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel like I’m at a place where I can slow down, enjoy the life I have, and take my ever lovin’ time.
When I first began this writing journey (oh so many years ago in the sixth grade!), I wanted to publish a novel. I’ve been tirelessly working toward that goal ever since. Yeah, I’m in my 40s and that novel still isn’t published – but I have to be okay with that. (As you can see, I haven’t completely made my peace with it yet). But in the meantime, do you know what I’ve accomplished?
A lot. My biggest accomplishment, of course, was becoming a mother. My daughter is the greatest blessing of my life and I thank God for her. I was also a stepmother for a long time as well as a wife. I was a stay-at-home mother who turned into a graduate student (how did I potty train my daughter while going to school full-time? I have no idea!) who earned a master’s degree in history and then got a job. I worked full-time for a publishing company and really honed my writing skills while still being a mother and a wife. I wrote and published several history articles and wrote a nonfiction book that was published in 2015. I also landed a great job that has enabled me to make so many connections and to learn more and more about the place where I live, the Great Plains.
You know what else I accomplished? I made deep, lasting friendships. I cherished and embraced my family. I found the courage to do what was right and what was necessary. I became stronger – ESPECIALLY this last year. I became a better co-worker, a better mother, a better friend, a better daughter, a better sister, aunt, and granddaughter. I discovered the joy in little things, and cultivated my particular brand of weirdness in all things 1940s, books, big bang music (and classical, pop, country and rock -I am nothing if not eclectic!), Snoopy, my cats, my dog, my fondness for the past. When life gave me a chronic illness, I made do the best that I could and I never, never gave up (though there are days I certainly feel like it). Life also gave me the most brutal, horrific pain I’ve ever experienced – my husband cheating on me – and y’know what? I survived. I’ve discovered myself again and I am so much stronger than before. My mantra – Always Keep Fighting (borrowed from Jared Padalecki of Supernatural fame)- got me through it and continues to get me through tough times.
I don’t hide who I am. I want to be genuine. But I am also flawed in so many ways. There are times I’m too selfish, times I don’t have the will power to eat only one brownie or cookie, times I let out a string of cuss words, times I want to hurt and punish those who have done me wrong, times when I don’t want to forgive, times when anger gets the best of me, times when I lose my patience and lose my sanity, times when I chuck the charity envelope in the trash instead of mailing a check, times when I don’t stay in touch with my family or my friends as well as I should, times when I am lazy and spend the day on the couch instead of being productive… I could go on!
However, as I get older, one of the greatest gifts I’ve received is to really take a look at myself and see who I am and accept who I am. I will never be perfect. I have flaws and some definitely need work – but I will always have imperfections. That’s called being human.
I’m working more on the concept of grace, something that a good friend of mine continually stresses and something that I do not give myself enough of. I am my own worst enemy. I am far too harsh on myself for not constantly being busy, for not pushing myself to get things done, for not taking advantage of every spare minute of time to research or write or read or clean or volunteer or whatever.
Which brings me back to that whole rushing to get my novel published thing.
Tonight, I worked on the synopsis for my next novel. I need to get it to my agent ASAP. But I can’t rush the process. I’ve tried and it only ends up screwy which wastes even more time. The ideas come at their own pace and will not be coaxed.
But I live with an underlying urgency that constantly snaps the whip – get the novel done so you can get it published! I put a LOT of pressure on myself for this particular goal. Why? Why does this goal propel me forward more than anything else? And I start to panic when I realize I am now 42 years old and I still don’t have a novel published.
Why am I in such a rush for this? Because once that novel IS published…and the next one and the next one…what will my goal be?
That, my dear readers, is where things get a little scary.
When you live with a goal for as long as I have (the 6th grade!), what happens when you accomplish that goal? I envision an emptiness, a gaping hole where that goal used to be.
But then I remember that life changes constantly. I never thought I’d be divorced and a single mom after 18 years of marriage to what I thought was my best friend. I never thought I’d actually be living a peaceful, calm life where new and intriguing possibilities are right there over the horizon.
Maybe it’s time to start giving myself new goals. Publishing a novel will always be there, don’t get me wrong. I am steadfastly committed to achieving that goal and hopefully making a career of being a novelist.
But what else can I do in this world? Get a job at the Imperial War Museum in England? Why not? Decide to move to northern Italy for a year and live with my relatives just because? Why not? Decide to go back to school and get a PhD? (I’ve toyed with this idea, too!) I certainly could do that! Or maybe go to a museum studies program? Or maybe pursue that long-ago dream of becoming a fashion historian?
Oh, the possibilities…they are endless!
But to truly explore those possibilities and to truly live the life I have, I need to quit rushing. I want to savor these last few months of my daughter being in high school. I want to take my time researching my nonfiction book and make a commitment to myself to produce a high-quality book. I want to spend time with my family and friends and strengthen our bonds and treasure the moments we have together.
This life is about so many things. It’s not just about publishing a novel.
No more rushing.
Just living.
Melissa Amateis 
Oh man, thank you for writing this. I needed to hear this, and i need to DO this myself. Why do we rush so much? I do the same thing, and then I realize I’ve been rushing so much I didn’t enjoy what I had, or I spent the time worrying that I wasn’t doing what I thought was important, and then realized I just wasted time by worrying and not actually just living and doing what I wanted to do in first place. It’s lame and frustrating, and I continue to rush! I also have had the same goal, for just as long, and have not achieved it, and I like what you say about that as well.
Deborah, I’m so glad my post resonated with you. I think part of the problem is the publishing world itself: we’ve been indoctrinated that we need to push ourselves to churn out manuscript after manuscript. Another problem? The world we live in! It’s a constant state of hurry – go do this, go do that! – and it’s utterly exhausting. I don’t want to participate anymore!