I am a doer. A go-getter. When I say that I am going to do something — I simply do it. I have a stellar track record of setting goals and subsequently attaining them, for as long as I can remember, both big and small. Everything from graduating summa cum laude, to earning my MBA, to diligently saving for and taking my dream trip to Egypt, to finding someone to clean my house, to saving enough money for a grand Christmas holiday for The Suns. And those examples are just drops in the overflowing bucket.
Despite this, there is one nagging thing in my life that I simply cannot reach the finish line for — and as you well know by now, it’s that bloody novel. Now, it is ok with me that the novel is not complete. For one thing, I want to put out a quality work. But perhaps more importantly, the novel is about 200th on my list of priorities; coming after my faith, my boys, my other family, my work, my house, my… oh you get the idea. So really, I am not at all concerned by the fact that progress is slow.
What does bother me however, is the fact that other people in my life seem to be so bothered by my lack of progression on it. The people closest to me are constantly taking little jabs at me, boring into my wounds and pouring in salt. Asking me why my novel is not finished yet and when do I plan to dedicate myself to it. As if it really matters to them! Why should they care that I decide to write a blog post instead of a novel chapter. Why are they concerned that I am adding about a page a week to my project at this point. Why on earth would they mind that this has been 4 long years in the making and still not one iota closer to being finished? I mean, really, what does it have to do with them other than making me feel bad that this is one thing I have not yet accomplished in my life? (Nevermind all the other things I have successfully done, but I don’t see anyone going around patting me on the back for those!)
It’s not the same thing as gentle prodding or asking because they care enough to want to see me realize a dream I have held close to my heart since I was in elementary school reading about Ramona The Brave. It is almost cruel. Like: what’s the matter with you? Why haven’t you been able to do this on top of the 1,000,000 other things on your list? If you really wanted it, you know, you would just do it.
Kiss my ass!
Worry about your own failures and missteps. Quit highlighting mine.
Hey girl. In your time, not theirs.