I've been doing a lot of thinking lately...

As I've mentioned a time or two in other posts, my mojo has been off this year. Not just off. Missing. Totally in hiding. Lying on a beach somewhere in a country that has no extradition. And I've been left here, fumbling around with my writing, trying to figure out how to get back on track. Then it occurred to me. I never left the track. It's still there. What I've done is throw up HUGE mental roadblocks. That's right. I said me. Mojo had nothing to do with it. (Technically, I said 'I', but proper grammar and all that.)

I'm a worrier. I try not to be. It's not a fun thing to be. I've read all the wisdom about "not borrowing trouble", "you can't predict the future", blah, blah, blah. It's in my nature. I'm a worrier. I prefer to think of it as being a realist - seeing exactly what's in front of me and going from there. But sometimes you need a little faith ~ hope ~ wishful thinking, whatever you want to call it; a little optimism that everything will work out. So that's what I'm working on. Relying a little more on chance than on fact.

I think there needs to be a balance, and I'll be the first to admit, I'm a bit top-heavy, or bottom-heavy, as the case may be. I let situations stop me before they occur because I can't see a way to make them work. And that's what I've done this year with my writing. Oh, the writing part still happens on a semi-daily basis. It's the production of the books that's slowing me down. There are factors that go into publishing a book, factors that I can't see beyond, and rather than take a deep breath and trust that they'll be there when I need them, I sputter and stall, wondering what the point is of having a completed book if I can't publish it at that moment. And it took me more than half a year to realize it, that I am the one slowing me down, stumbling over roadblocks that I put up. Slow learner here.

But at least I've realized it. Better late than never, right? More importantly, I can do something about it, knock down those roadblocks, or climb over them, or better yet, close my eyes and wish them away. Because that's all they are...invisible barriers that my mind created. And what my mind created, my mind can change, reshape, mold into opportunity instead of misfortune. Hey, I think I hear my mojo calling.

Nice tan!

Today I begin my 49th year on this earth...

Yes, I'm one of those people who counts my birthday as the end of the year of my age. Huh? Did I confuse you? What I mean is, though I turn 48 today, it is because I've completed 48 years of life. Kinda like high school, only different. Well, maybe not that different.

Anyway, though I am one year away from starting a new decade in my life, I'm not quite ready to give up on this one. Even though I can honestly say that I'm not as far along on my journey's path as I would like to be, each year does get better. Although I do wonder why my mind and my soul still feel like they're 20 but my body feels like it's 80. Hmmmm...gotta work on that one!

Most people make their resolutions for the upcoming year on January 1st. I make mine on my birthday. Not really resolutions, rather goals, both personal and professional. I can honestly say that I didn't meet many of mine that I set last year. Life got in the way and messed with my mojo.

But all that's in the past. Today is a new day...a fresh start. Today is the day I wipe the slate clean and start over. And the goals I've set for the upcoming year are lofty ones. I'm determined to be a better person, not only to others but to myself. There's no way in hell I'm heading into my 50s on a negative note.

So, Happy Birthday to me. Here's to many, many more!!!

I haven't written in a while...

Not my blog post, or a new manuscript, or anything I deem worthwhile. I've kind of been in a funk lately, and though I really don't like it, I'm not sure how to make it go away.

A year and a half ago, oh hell, my whole life, I've attempted to better myself, do SOMETHING that would bring about a catalyst for change. While there's nothing wrong with getting up in the morning, going to a nine-to-five job, coming home in the evening for dinner with the family, watching a couple of episodes of your favorite show, and then going to bed, only to repeat the next day, that has never been the life I wanted. That's not to say I haven't lived it. For decades I've lived it. But I always yearned for something else - something just out of reach. Maybe I don't know how to be contented with what I have. Could be. I wouldn't argue with anyone who suggested that. Or maybe I think - know - feel - that I can be something more. Have something more. I'm not talking about fame and fortune. Really, I'm not. Okay, maybe just a little fortune. I'm talking about a life that fulfills me. That eases the place in my soul that is never quite satisfied with how I'm getting along in life. Is it supposed to be this hard? Seriously??

So back to the funk. I see myself today in the same place I was a year and a half ago, before I began writing. Oh, there are miniscule changes. I've published books, met new people, made new friends. I've learned how to do things I never imagined doing and stepped out of my comfort zone on many occasions. But when I look at the big picture, I'm still standing in the same place. Day to day life hasn't changed. It hasn't gotten better or, thank god, worse. It just is. So it makes me wonder, is the effort worth it? Is all of the time and money and emotional upheaval worth being in the same place I was when I started? Would I be happier if I went back to that nine-to-five life, vegging out on the sofa in the evenings, watching TV? I know the answer even without anyone telling me. No. I wouldn't be. I wasn't happier then, so what makes me think I'd be happy going back to that? There's something in me, deep down in the furthest reaches that pushes me to challenge myself, challenge the nine-to-five way of life, do something different, creative. So I do.

In the meantime, I attempt not to give in to the lack of progression that I see. And before anyone jumps on me about it taking time, just keep going, blah, blah, blah, I'm not only referring to the book side of my life. I'm talking about me - the person. The whole person. Not only an author, or wife, or co-worker, or friend, or mother to my furry children. I'm talking about all of that plus the parts of me that only I know exist.

I was hoping that by writing this down, getting it 'off my chest', so to speak, I'd feel better. Writing usually helps. This time it didn't. But that's okay. I'm not quite ready to turn on a Netflix marathon just yet. I don't think. Now where did I put that remote?