There is a good chance this will come off as complaining, but I suppose there is no way around it, because, I suppose that is exactly what I am doing. But certain words are forming the same sentences in my head and it’s distracting me from finishing this one project, or two actually.
I’m currently working a numerous amount of really cool projects and needing to adhere to certain dates. I love every second of it, but I’m running myself a little ragged. Part of that is just where am I, and part of it is adjusting to my summer schedule (Yes, the thing I’ve been fretting about is finally here!)
But, let’s be honest. Is that really what I’ve been fretting about?
No, I don’t think so either.
I’m afraid of falling on my face.
My natural default is a rollercoaster of self-deprecating and delusions of grandeur. The nature of writing. I sincerely believe that. Maybe it’s a cop-out, maybe I am a little irrational with my goals.
But, I don’t think so.
I’ve been recording a lot of talks for Too Many Words. I’m getting the chance to talk to really talented and kindhearted people and I have the pleasure of all the listeners that continue to grow and tune in.
The whole podcasting process is teaching me so much, and I love it, but the entire deal makes me incredibly nervous and ansty—not in the crowded grocery store way—but, in the living life kinda away.
I’m under the assumption that a particular fly-by-the seat-on-your-pants-and-grab-the-things-you-want attitude is an okay way to roll.
That being said, days like today I feel overwhelmed by all that I’m doing and worried. Worried about failing, about succeeding, about endless possibilities that match the epic length of a detailed novel. I’m tired and exercising way more than I’m used to. A symptom of tiring out kids is also tiring you out.
So if it did sound like I was complaining, I wasn’t, more ranting, thinking out loud, hoping that if I empty my worries I can go back to finishing this short story and this week’s Elliot. Thanks for listening.