Recently I told a friend of mine I was living at 125% capacity, and I wasn’t joking.
This was a feat I was capable of at the tender age of nineteen, when all the world was a stage and I was quite a player. I would spend every evening in the company of a bevy of witty, savvy, brilliant friends who delighted in games both on and off the field. I agreed to nearly every invitation – nearly, because I had accepted every invitation for a while and made a habit of double and triple booking myself to the point of annoying those same witty, savvy, brilliant people who were my friends. I fell out of favor for being flaky, and had to climb my way back into good graces.
I did learn that lesson, but not before I tried a myriad of ways to stuff my days full of activity. The sound and fury that signified nothing, unless you happened to be a teenage girl poised on the steps of being twenty.
Quite some time beyond that, I have learned a whole new set of business. I am writing and learning the additional requirements of being an author – tending a blog, attending conferences, doing public readings. Add this to a schedule that is packed to the brim, and you can guarantee nervous collapse is at hand.
I have also desperately been trying to put off the decision that is so obviously in need. A few weeks ago I emailed four of my girlfriends, asking them what their normal social schedule looked like. They ranged from a bi-weekly lunch with a friend to once every six weeks. Even my single friend, who has less family obligation than I do, still only saw people an average of once every couple of weeks.
At this point I can only pull back. I must disappoint people and turn down invitations and stop being so busy. I have to let go of the limelight to let me finally get something done. The problem with writing is that it is time consuming. For every word that goes on the page, many are altered, experimented with, attempted, and then discarded. Much like movies, novels have ‘original scenes,’ enough to probably eke another book or two from. Much like movies, there are only some deleted scenes that are worth showing off.
It will be productive, certainly, but I can’t help but wonder what I’ll think about my decision come November.