This post is going to be a little more personal than some of my previous more educational posts, but here it goes.
I cannot multitask. It’s simply not something I’m good at, at least when it comes to working. When I decided that I wanted to be a writer, I thought that I would work part time to make the ends meet, but then I would spend the rest of my time writing. It sounded great, and it worked for a short amount of time while I lived in Seattle.
My part time Starbucks job helped pay the rent, utilities, and have some extra cash while my husband was completing his Masters. It sounded like great set up, and it was, at least in theory. I thought that the days I’d have off would be full of creative ideas, and I was surrounded by a city that was intriguing and wonderful.
The thing is, I was miserable. My job, while it made it so we didn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck was sapping all of my energy out of me. This isn’t a slight against the people I worked with (many whom I still talk to), or the job itself, although it was practically non-stop running all day.
No. It’s because if I want to do something I have to commit everything I have to achieve my goal. It was not an easy decision. It meant I’d be losing my income for some time. It meant that I’d be completely dependant on my husband’s finances to make ends meet. Thank our lucky stars for scholarships.
Above all that, it was a blow to my self-worth. I’ve always worked. Whether it was taking care of the neighbor’s dog or waiting tables, I had always been able to find some satisfaction in working and getting paid for it. I made the decision to stop working at Starbucks when I got into my Master’s program, and I’m not going to lie to you and say it was easy. I told everyone else it was great because I was, for all intents and purposes, living my dream. I should have been ecstatic.
My happiness was a bit of a double edged sword. I was happy because I finally had the energy and motivation to write and read like I’d wanted. I was finally getting my education in something I had always wanted to dedicate my life to, but I didn’t contribute to my relationship with my husband because I didn’t feel like I was pulling my weight. And we’d been married less than a year. My timing isn’t always great.
Long story short, my journey to here, being a freelance author, and having a stable relationship has not been easy. I knew one thing about myself when I decided to quit my job almost four years ago to have a go at this: I have to go all in. Even on the days when I felt guilty for the choices I made, I kept telling myself that the only way it was going to get better was by putting my nose to the grindstone and making this work.
Yes, I put all my eggs in one basket, but it’s the only basket I have. I love writing. I love stories, and my freelance journey might be fraught with different perils than some other authors might have faced, but what’s a good ending without a little blood, sweat, and tears to make it memorable?