Not only does the act of writing everyday keep me focused on my daydream of becoming a full-time writer, but the message I’m trying to convey is exactly that little voice in my head pleading with me: Don’t give up.
You see, now I’m nearly 49, and I’m worried about running out of time. I think pretty much all of us worry like that; that’s why time speeds up so much as we age. We worry we’re not living our life, and that we’re going to die without impacting the world in any significant way. It’s a Willy Loman outlook, but all too often it’s also a pretty realistic truth, too.
I’m not going to tell you to not give up. I’m not chirpy. I would never presume I know how for you to piece together your perfect life. (I’m much too skeptical of anyone making those kinds of claims to jump on that bandwagon.)
Even still, sometimes it’s probably okay to give in to reality at some point. Get a jobby-job. Allow gravity to do what it will to our faces.
Just don’t give in prematurely.
When is the right time to throw in the towel and give up on those impossible daydreams, anyway? Is it when our bodies tell us we can no longer give birth to the babies we’ve wanted since we played with dolls? Is it on those days when we find ourselves organizing groceries on the conveyer belt, asking the checker to give us a running total because there’s only twenty dollars in our pocket? Is it when our lover leaves or we find ourselves wishing more than anything he’d take a wrong turn and never come back?
I don’t have the answer. (Sorry.)
In many ways the success (or failure) of Daydream Believer may be my time to let go of the writing ledge I’m hanging on by my white knuckled fingers.
When asked, I used to joke and call becoming a writer my lottery ticket. (Statistically it pretty much is, when you think about it, right?) People who know me watch me eeking out an existence by renting out rooms in my house and teaching part-time so I can write every day.
It’s a lifestyle I choose so I can practice my craft and pretty much live in poverty with no real end in sight. That is, unless I give up and get a big-girl job.
And then I’ll go for months without putting my ass in the chair to write. Are you a writer or not? Why live like this if you’re not going to write?
It’s not that I’m hermit crabbing it, either. I’m out and about, being the social butterfly (or party girl, depending on how deep I get) that I am. It’s during these non-writing stints I wonder, Why did I choose the solitary life of being a writer when my personality is so batshit crazy social? Am I wishing for something that isn’t even right for me? Have I picked the wrong daydream?
And that’s what this is about: figuring out what to do when you’re pretty sure you’re almost out of time. You’ve had your share of bad decisions and wasted time . . . and now you’re ready to start focusing on doing it your way.
What does that look like? Some of us focus on what we look and feel like. No shame in that. Others want a beautiful home. I’m on board for that. A killer love life. Sign me up! A kickass career. Damn straight, sister.
Better Body Dream Home Dreamy Sex Life Career of Your Dreams
You can probably unblock a lot that’s keeping you down by focusing on one or two of these areas, but in order to capture your full daydream, I believe we need to address each piece (at least in some capacity).
So, what does that mean for readers? What do they get when they read Daydream Believer? Is it an instructional manual? A series of anecdotes sharing examples of each point? Do people want information supported by research?
In my dreams, they do.