It seems my son has inherited the Early Morning gene from Bryan. He wakes up at 6am, perky and ready for the day, which really puts a cramp in my creative process. I write my best stuff in the virgin dark of morning when my mind is refreshed and clear, free from the business, stresses, and failures of the day.
Without this time to do my free-writing I end up posting quip-y things like this conversation that I overheard the other day:
“…and when I realized I had eaten HALF the package of doughnuts as I drove down the road, I started tossing them out the window, one by one.â€
“WHY was I not driving behind you???â€
Funny? Yes. But not the kind of writing I’ve always dreamed of doing.
I have so many thoughts swirling in my brain, so many stories to tell, but O how to set them free? I used to stay up until the wee hours of the morning, wrapping up my thoughts as Conan filled my screen with his huge, square head and pointy chin.
But Thomas’ Early Morning gene was clashing with my Late Night With Conan O’Brien gene so I redirected myself to fall asleep earlier.
I feel my life balancing out more.
I feel myself moving away from the Bitter About My Circumstances end of the spectrum toward the Accept the Things I Cannot Change end of the spectrum.
Knowledge is power – if I learn I play The Victim when it is difficult to take responsibility, yet I choose to continue blaming Bryan or Ruthie or some uncontrolled circumstances for the unfairness of my life, I move from ignorance to rebellion.
I’ve done rebellion. It did nothing for me but create guilt, stress, and loss of credibility.
Seven months ago I was complaining about the very circumstance I find myself in this morning – Ruthie waking me from my slumber before I’ve had my cup of coffee. I’ve grown up a little since then, and I’ve had my ass kicked a few times.
I’m learning that life is a series of choices I make.
I choose to lose my temper when Ruthie wakes up in the night, or I choose to be patient and soothing. I choose to shoot fiery darts of wrath at Bryan, or I choose to lay low and guard him from the hormonal surge. I choose to attend a women’s retreat, or I choose to attend an equally important tech conference on the same weekend.
I’m learning to make my choices and move on. If it’s good choice, I build on that. If it’s a bad choice I learn from it. If I have to choose between two Best Things, I leave regret behind and enjoy the choice I made.
None of this is easy for me. The women in my family are bad at making choices. I come from a culture of buyer’s remorse and second guessing, of being in one place wishing for another, of wanting things to be different than they are. I waste a lot of energy wishing, wanting, and regretting.
This is not the culture I want to raise my own daughter in.
I’m not sure where I’m going with all of this. I’m trying to spill out a few thoughts as Thomas crawls around on the couch, rolling on a bed of Cherios like Mena Suvari in her roses.
Perhaps I should wrap this up and simply say, I have been writing less because my circumstances have not provided enough opportunity for me to write. And I’m learning to be Okay with that.