Head Space Part III: Gifts

I already have been given just the right chair by a caring mother who swooped in to solve her 33 year old daughter’s woes!  I have the desk which feels like a gift from a supportive ghost.  Then my neighbor leaves an end table on her tree belt.  I swooped it up so quick!  It was retro style and light wood – I love wood!!!  It’s what books are made out of!  It was perfect to go in front of the chair for a space to put the lap top down.  I looked at it and inside is stamped LANE.  Not only is it the same company – different decade – as the claw foot hope chest – but it’s worth some money!  I really like my neighbors so I talk to her about it standing on the back steps looking over the fence.  She said it was fine to take and wished me luck on my writing endeavor!

I then adorned the walls with discarded artwork from my students.  I love their artwork!  I can’t believe some of the stuff they just leave behind to get thrown out.  The art teacher always knows to save some stuff for me and this year she must have known I’d want a lot to leave with and I have more artwork that I haven’t even put up yet!

So with a little money spent at Michael’s and a little at Staples I have my space!  I noticed something important.  It’s full of gifts.  Things that remind me of the support of people who are rooting for me and are accepting of my artistic leap.  It’s full of reminders of a career I loved for a decade and that ten years gave me many gifts.  I very truly believe I wouldn’t be the same writer or a good writer at all with out that experience.  I feel that ten years of analyzing literature and teaching writing has made me ten million times technically better and I left the experience of everything I knew to work with the kids I worked with and through them I learned so much about life.  My writing can be much deeper and wider because of it.

A picture of Stephen King looms above my head, right where he should be, in case I ever forget my purpose in that space.  I wont.

I wont forget I’m meant to be a writer because I was born with the ever looming threat of this wool suit.  I’m driven to do it and maybe that is just an excuse to take the responsibility of choice out of my hands.  I’ve been bitching and moaning and having a hard time and going through a transition and being pissed at myself that I’m not embracing it all going hog wild feeling freedom feeling creative.  Feeling grateful.

I have been mind fucking everything.  I’ve put too much pressure on myself.

Yesterday I felt that breaking down a little.  I felt myself breaking through.  I had fun writing the piece I posted yesterday.  I have a few more hurdles to jump, but I think I’m finding my way to living this writer’s life in a healthy way!

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