Just.
Do.
It.
Pretty much best add campaign ever. Even though I don't love Nike shoes, I LOVE this theme.
Last night as I was furiously folding clothes and watching my guilty pleasure "Jayne the Virgin" (literally, I love this show), the Mama, Xo, is finally able to fulfill her dream of being a singer. She of course is rebuffed because despite having talent, she's too old.
She's "missed" her window.
There's a lot more to the story, but it totally struck home to me. I'm 43. I've written two full length books and countless essays and haven't gotten ONE published.
Not one.
I sort of tried, but . . . well, after a bunch of rejections, you either keep going, or like me, let it fizzle out and go strong on the PTA, busy mama of five project (which to be fair for a few years truly required my blood sweat and tears--lots of tears) direction.
Have I missed my window?
Last night, I was pretty darn sure I had. And missing your window is a pretty darn sad feeling to have. Sure, you can comfort yourself (and I did) with all the things you did do and the opportunities you didn't miss, but this dream of mine--unrealistic and crazy as it may be--hasn't been realized.
And I felt a bit bummed about that.
I had two dreams growing up: Dream #1; a big old yard with a big garden, flowers, and lots of laughing children running around and Dream #2; me, an author writing as I listened to their laughter creating story after story while the warm wind blew through my window and my children blissfully played.
I got half the dream. Young me had no idea how many times that laughter would be interrupted by screams, tears, fights, and near death experiences. Creativity during that time . . . not so great.
So . . . I did the half that had an expiration date--the children.
Fast forward a million and one years to me, 43, with 2 1/2 children home (Celia with her senior and work status make her a half child), with time on my hands for the first time in forever and enough money to not worry about much and my kids pretty darn independent.
And I've missed my window?
Hell, no.
The window just flew open along with all the doors.
So why the heck don't I just do what I really want to do and what makes me happy?
Fear? Of never getting published?
Totally there. But when do we ever do anything worth while if it isn't soused in fear? That's what makes us amazing when we face that fear and say, Be Gone with you. I am stronger and braver than you ever imagine.
And so . . . today, I wrote the first chapter in my new book (which is linked to my book that I wrote seven years ago).
It's good. Once I get cracking on it, it will be even better.
I may be the only one who ever thinks so, but I'm the most important critic right now.
So, Bah, to you Fear.
I'm Just going to Do It.
These 60 days of exploration--with only six left--have actually done their purpose. I know what I'm doing next (and I'm still going to take design classes and hopefully real estate--just sounds fun)--I'm going to write.
Drop.
The.
Mic.
ps my publishing name (because there are literally a million Mary Elizabeth Thomas out there and the M. E. Thomas out there wrote something like "True Confessions of a Psychopath") will be M. M. Thomas . . . someday, you just might see that in print.
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