Virginia Woolf...I love you, but I hope I can prove you wrong.
Posted in 1 comments
Good morning blogospere! Oh, how I've missed you. I'm beginning to think that this blog may turn into a monday only thing for the next few weeks, until the end of the semester. You see, I really don't have time for it at all. But after a week, I just can't help myself. I just feel the need to start my week off this way. So, after flying through my "get ready" routine, I have somehow afforded myself a half hour of writing time before I absolutely have to leave for work, a blissful thirty minutes of nothing but me and a blinking cursor. Okay, so maybe my hair won't be straight when I get to work, but at least my head will.
Topic of the Day: Big Dreams
Let me start this off with a little story: When I was about eight, at the request of my teacher, I stood up in front of my peers and announced my career goals. Even then they were a little flighty. After listening to other students say they wanted to be teachers, lawyers, and architects, my turn came. I stood up, even then afraid to speak in front of others, and said that I would like to be a poet...that I wanted to live in a cute little cottage in Europe somewhere and write all day long. I don't know what I expected their reaction to be, but the disbelief my fellow students and teacher had in my big dreams sort of led me to stiffle them, I think. After that day, I decided I needed to do strive for something a little more sensible, and if one day the universe unfolded in a way that made writing an option to me, I would make my dream a reality.
My life has gone a little off track since I made that decision, and I believe it is because I've been trying really hard to be logical, when the fact is that I am not. I am, and will always be, that dreamy little girl...processing reality through a cloudy but clear lens of poetry. Okay, maybe I'm not really a poet (in fact, in my intro to creative writing class, I actually had to borrow some poetry from a friend to turn in at one point...I am not usually a cheater, but I just couldn't turn in the nonsensical mess of words that I finally put together after hours of effort), but I like to think that there is poetry in my prose....that the metaphors and ambiguities I see in the world are somehow heightened in my mind through my attempt at artistry.
Since my son was born, these dreams that have always seethed beneath the surface of who I thought I should be trying to be have reawakened in my soul. I have big dreams for him, and what kind of a hypocrit can convince their child to aim big if they aren't doing it? Not me. But it is still hard. I wonder, sometimes, if it really is possible to write, and really write, if you don't have those luxuries Virginia Woolf believes are neccessary: money and a room of your own. I don't really have these things, and I might never have them. I must accept the realization that, in order to help provide a good life for my family, I will have to have a real job one of these days. And the room that was supposed to be my writing room when we bought this house has since become a nursery. But these actual phsycial obsticles are really symbols for the bigger obsticles that exist in my mind. How can I find in my own mind the freedom to try to chase my big dreams of becoming a real writer one day? How can I possibly ever learn to juggle all the other responsibilities in my life with the burning desire to rush to a computer four or five times a day to get a story into words?
I have to accept the fact that the universe may never unfold as I want it to. If I want to do this, I'm going to have to find a way. My sister and brother in law have a pretty good theory: Find what you love to do and then figure out a way to make money at it. Maybe one day I can turn this into a career. Maybe one day I will have the money and a room of my own to be the writer that exists in my dreams. Until that day, I guess I will have to settle with thirty good minutes of writing on a monday morning, and every other free moment a can grab in between now and next monday.
Ahh..there is so much more to say, but my minutes are up..the real world is calling me out of the dreamy mist. Until next time, I hope you can find a way to do it all. I know I am!
Topic of the Day: Big Dreams
Let me start this off with a little story: When I was about eight, at the request of my teacher, I stood up in front of my peers and announced my career goals. Even then they were a little flighty. After listening to other students say they wanted to be teachers, lawyers, and architects, my turn came. I stood up, even then afraid to speak in front of others, and said that I would like to be a poet...that I wanted to live in a cute little cottage in Europe somewhere and write all day long. I don't know what I expected their reaction to be, but the disbelief my fellow students and teacher had in my big dreams sort of led me to stiffle them, I think. After that day, I decided I needed to do strive for something a little more sensible, and if one day the universe unfolded in a way that made writing an option to me, I would make my dream a reality.
My life has gone a little off track since I made that decision, and I believe it is because I've been trying really hard to be logical, when the fact is that I am not. I am, and will always be, that dreamy little girl...processing reality through a cloudy but clear lens of poetry. Okay, maybe I'm not really a poet (in fact, in my intro to creative writing class, I actually had to borrow some poetry from a friend to turn in at one point...I am not usually a cheater, but I just couldn't turn in the nonsensical mess of words that I finally put together after hours of effort), but I like to think that there is poetry in my prose....that the metaphors and ambiguities I see in the world are somehow heightened in my mind through my attempt at artistry.
Since my son was born, these dreams that have always seethed beneath the surface of who I thought I should be trying to be have reawakened in my soul. I have big dreams for him, and what kind of a hypocrit can convince their child to aim big if they aren't doing it? Not me. But it is still hard. I wonder, sometimes, if it really is possible to write, and really write, if you don't have those luxuries Virginia Woolf believes are neccessary: money and a room of your own. I don't really have these things, and I might never have them. I must accept the realization that, in order to help provide a good life for my family, I will have to have a real job one of these days. And the room that was supposed to be my writing room when we bought this house has since become a nursery. But these actual phsycial obsticles are really symbols for the bigger obsticles that exist in my mind. How can I find in my own mind the freedom to try to chase my big dreams of becoming a real writer one day? How can I possibly ever learn to juggle all the other responsibilities in my life with the burning desire to rush to a computer four or five times a day to get a story into words?
I have to accept the fact that the universe may never unfold as I want it to. If I want to do this, I'm going to have to find a way. My sister and brother in law have a pretty good theory: Find what you love to do and then figure out a way to make money at it. Maybe one day I can turn this into a career. Maybe one day I will have the money and a room of my own to be the writer that exists in my dreams. Until that day, I guess I will have to settle with thirty good minutes of writing on a monday morning, and every other free moment a can grab in between now and next monday.
Ahh..there is so much more to say, but my minutes are up..the real world is calling me out of the dreamy mist. Until next time, I hope you can find a way to do it all. I know I am!
Posts
1 comment:
You are so inspiring! I could totally wake up in the worst mood ever, read your blog, and then be ready to conquer the world with the most positive can do attitude you have ever seen!
Post a Comment