This morning I awoke early in order to write letters for a friend who is leaving for a month. After saying goodbye to her I started a pot of decaf coffee prepared to settle in at my desk for a long day of editing. Days like this are highly looked forward to by me – I have a quiet, empty house, a load of writing work to do, and long hours stretching ahead of me.
Then reality sets in.
There are dishes to wash.
Laundry to wash.
Miles to walk.
Rooms to clean.
Every-day chores to take care of.
Letters to write.
My writing desk is a mess due to people using it over the last few days and not cleaning up afterward.
Thinking of everything that needs to be done is exhausting. I’m a writer. I really need this day to write. It’s so easy to get off course though, and in reality, the other things have to be done, too. I work at the coffee shop the next two days, so it’s not like I can just let everything (or anything) wait for a new day.
The life of a writer is a balancing act I’m still trying to figure out. Often times I don’t do nearly as much as I was wanting or planning to, and sometimes it feels justified, other times it feels stifling.
Today I’m sitting down at my desk, knowing that every little bit I’ll have to jump up and rush off to do some other needed life-y thing. Today I’m sitting down with a hundred things pushing and pulling me knowing that I might not get as many writing hours in as I had wanted, but that every little bit pushes me closer to my goal. Today I sit down knowing that although it might be overwhelming, it’s still worthwhile.
Today I sit down, thankful for my life. Thankful for the time that I do have to write. And thankful to have the ability to do what I do.
Today I’m a writer.
But even more than that, today I am thankful.