Being a writer is not only my dream, it's what I feel called to do. Compelled, if you will, like metal to a magnet, despite being equally repelled by the marketing end of things. This standoff between attraction/repulsion makes for a lot of waffling on my part. Am I a writer, or just a faker- someone who dabbles, and then retreats to the safety of doable, yet less fulfilling work when the going gets tough?
My husband - lucky man! - is a contented type, not driven though hard-working, happy in the same job for his entire career through all its ups and downs. Yet... even he is struggling a bit as he looks toward retirement, wondering what he'll do with himself. At least, he reminds me, I have ambitions.
What I'm often short on is grit. Good ol' suck-it-up and do the hard stuff attitude. I can preach it, but can't quite reach it. Part of me wants to settle in on this plateau, learn to love what I'm doing now for work, instead of just like it. The other part of me rails against the idea that what I feel is my most valuable potential contribution to the world isn't as profitable as my "day job".
So, what do I do? Where am I going?
Looking out over where I have been vs. where I would like to go, there is a lot of landscape yet to be conquered. Here at the midway point, the journey still seems unbelievably daunting. But, my husband is right: at least I have a destination in mind. Always - since early childhood - had it in mind. How do I get there from here?
I take the next step.
I won't always see the finish line - heck! I may not even see a clear path! I might stumble over my own feet, and fall flat on my face. But, if I get up, if I keep going, I will at least get closer to that mountaintop. Because, even with a destination in mind, it really is all about the journey.