When I first got back into writing, I asked myself, “How will I ever have time to do this?” I had four youngish children, a part-time teaching job, and multiple commitments that all ate up a good chunk of my time. I forged ahead anyway. Not full-force, like I now realize, in retrospect, that I should have. But somewhat half-halfheartedly. The passion was present; the time, however, wasn’t.
Had someone said to me then that my time would become even more limited as my children aged, I would have scoffed at them. But it has, friends, it really has. For raising teenagers takes much more time, energy, and commitment than raising toddlers, and I find myself asking myself at this point, “Is now really the right time to do this?”
I often look around at acquaintances of mine, also writers, and assess what’s going in their lives. And what I’ve found is this: many of those folks no longer have children in the house and several of them are already retired. This cohort of friends who are trying to turn a dream into a reality have far more time than I do. I’m never jealous of them, for what good would being jealous do? But I do think, “Maybe, I should put these projects on the back burner for a while. Maybe I should shelve them and come back to them in ten years. Maybe . . .”
The list goes on, but I won’t bore you with it.
But I will tell you this. That “Maybe” will not include anything along the lines of, “Maybe I’ll just stop writing.” As Tim pointed out to me, I’d likely go crazy if I tried to stop writing. I have too many characters in my head and too many things to say. What I need to do right now is figure out what my “Maybe” entails. If only I had the time to do so . . .
(P.S. When I searched the Pixabay site for a picture to go with this post, I typed in the word “maybe” and several pictures popped up, including this door. I like how it can represent the unknown path, so I’m including it here. I guess I don’t really know what door to choose nor what stands behind the door I ultimately pick.)