(Not) Finding Time to Write

I have this vivid memory from when I was a senior in college of telling someone about my post-graduation plans, “What I really want to do is write, but no one is going to pay me to just go live in a cabin and do that.” It was, on the face of it, true. My family was not wealthy. They had sacrificed to ensure that I could go to college in the first place, and to graduate debt-free, to boot. Literally no one was going to support me financially as I tried to become a published author (Why in a cabin? I have no idea.), no matter how much they would have supported me, emotionally.

But I look back on that young, naïve person, now, and think, You fool! If ever there was a time to “just go off and write,” cabin or otherwise, that was it. Sure, I’d have to get a job to pay the bills. But the stakes would have been so low. I owned no earthly possessions. As mentioned, I had no debt. There were so few things pulling on my time, I could not have even counted them.

I’m someone who believes in the routine of writing, that one should write every day. Not because I think that’s what makes you a writer, but because I think that’s what makes me successful. Some days it means just fifteen minutes. Some days it’s an hour or more.

Recently, however, it has been a struggle to find that time, no matter how small. My job – the one that allows me to write – has become overwhelming to the point of almost (almost!) debilitating. Today, as I write this, it is Saturday and I worked close to eight hours. I’ll do the same tomorrow. My elderly parents are both sick. I’m starting a kitchen remodel project. I need to do my taxes. I’ve been traveling (again, for the job). And on, and on. Adulting, y’all. It’s not for the weak.

There’s something I say a lot at work: No false deadlines. No holding ourselves accountable to a timeline or an expectation that we put on ourselves in the first place, when it becomes clear that it is accomplishing little more than giving ourselves undue stress. So easy to do for others. So hard to do for oneself.

So, today, I remind myself: No false deadlines, no unrealistic expectations. Maybe, today, writing looks like this blog. Maybe tomorrow it’s sending off a query or two. Maybe it’s going for a long run and thinking about my work in progress. It all counts, and I need to remind myself of that. Some days, writing looks like words on the page. Some days it’s protecting your brain and your health and remembering why you started, so that maybe, tomorrow, you can begin again.