Lately I’ve wanted – despite the joy of being at the Book Fair – to throw in the towel on my writing. To say, “I gave it my best shot, and I’ve had enough.” But what stops me is the realisation that this is one field of endeavour that I can honestly call my own.
True, it owes its genesis to the generosity and encouragement of others, in particular, my husband. But having cultivated this particular creative garden, it has taken root and is well established. So I don’t feel justified in pulling it all out and leaving behind bare earth. And if I did, how would I spend the time that not writing would free up? Would I have the courage to do what I want, or would I expend even more of my efforts in helping others?
I realise my cogitations make me sound very selfish. I’ve just had four days away from home, exploring to my heart’s content. But doing that, I have been able to notice how lopsided my ‘ordinary’ life has become, how joyless; and just how much of my effort has been invested for others. I say, automatically, “I don’t mind,” but actually, I mind very much. And however often I may assume it doesn’t matter, clearly my body has other ideas: I am forced to recon with my giving tendencies when I am sore, exhausted and depressed.
I suppose I have to be more honest about what I would like to do. But I’m not used to it, not really. Hubby says, “Go out and have fun…!” which for him might be easy to decide and do. Whereas I sit quietly wondering what that might entail, pondering what fun might be. Going to the cinema? Not very active. Going shopping? Yes, but that’s a consumerist effort. Reading a book? I recon I’ve done enough of that for a while. Watching television? No, I want to get outside. Go for a walk? Yes, somewhere nice, maybe… I would love to go for a walk, at my pace, in a wooded place, where I don’t have to fret that I’m late, or in the way, but can enjoy great lungfuls of cool, fresh air.
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April 1, 2019
If I can’t say no
Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters 10 Comments
If I can’t say no
I have a hard time saying no. I don’t want to disappoint people, so I make myself unhappy. Right? Wrong!
Reading books I don’t like, for example, that’s a big one. But honestly, how hard can it be? Read the book, post a review – or not – and that’s that. Except that it takes another several hours out of life – my life – reading another book I don’t especially want to. And it’s become another bad habit.
I’m not a book reviewer, though of course I delight in reviewing books I love. I would want to do that in any case, knowing how much I welcome reviews from supportive readers. (I welcome reviews from unsupportive readers too, but that is another story.) And generally, though I welcome reviews, I very rarely solicit them, as I feel that a book out in the public fends for itself, by and large.
But, partly because of my intensive stint of work on Authonomy, I’ve had to relearn how to read books for sheer pleasure, separating editing and critique from what I am reading for enjoyment, as far as I can. A process which has taken a few years – far longer than I expected it to.
So, of course, I should say NO to books that I don’t want to read, without having to list the reasons why not, or justify my choice to myself. Since the reasons are only for me and my conscience…
After all the hard work and the heartache to reach this day, if I can’t say No to what I don’t want, what has been the point of all my previous introspection and soul-searching? Saying No is absolutely key to getting around, finally, to doing what I want to do. Which, since it take effort and time, I deserve to prioritise.
It is not a mistake or a failure to lay aside a job that makes me feel heavy. It is, in fact, the way in which to make a happier, more soothing life, in which I find myself being kinder to myself and other people too. What’s not to like?
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