I took an unexpected vacation last week.
After BlogHer, a trip I’m still processing because I’m a slow learner when it comes to emotional stuffage, I felt very adrift, clinging to my sense of self with one hand. With no job, and thus no paycheck, to validate my worth as a human being (ESPECIALLY an American); with no one beating down my door to publish my writing and confirm my skill with words; with no husband to at least hug me at the end of the day when I felt like a loser, I fled from my life like a refugee from a war-torn country and joined Mike on his business trip in The Middle of Nowhere.
I didn’t expect to completely unplug whilst in The Middle of Nowhere, but Internet connections were unreliable. Plus, I felt inspired to write – not just for an audience, but for me. So I did.
I barely checked in with social media. I ignored my blog for a week, something I haven’t done since its inception. In fact, my blogiversary (August 4th) came and went without notice. Maybe I’ll observe it later, but today it seems unimportant.
This turned out to be exactly what I needed: a break. Time to regain some perspective. Time to write, which is why I started this whole endeavor in the first place.
I guess I’ve been having a good old-fashioned identity crisis. Who am I, if not a talented writer? What am I worth, if I cannot even provide for my basic needs by the work of my hands? To be continually humbled by circumstances out of my control may be good for the soul, but let me tell you, it’s not fun.
Despite all this, I feel like I’m building up inner strength as if it were a seldom-used muscle. The more time goes on, the less I need others to validate my worth as a writer. As I continually lose jobs I never really liked in the first place, I come to see that perhaps I am being called away from working merely to survive. Maybe it’s time to do something about which I’m passionate. Maybe someday I’ll get paid to do what I love.