I’ve been thinking a lot on writing, these days…
With complete passion I tackled my NaNo project, last month, with record speed and it felt really good. It felt good to meet the needs of my family and meet a deadline.
And anyone who fancies themselves a writer will complete get it when I say: it simply felt good to write.
Like I was complete.
Interestingly enough, as I’ve mentioned, my work camera died last month as well. In that moment I felt suffocated and had the world’s largest panic attack {which eventually faded, but did reappear from time to time over the week + which followed…} In that time we’ve shopped and shopped and searched for an attainable replacement, I’ve began to question how much I really want this… this photography thing. It isn’t so much the hesitation at shelling out $1200 for a new Canon, (but don’t get me wrong- i refuse to shell out that much money anyway) as much as a questioning of where I’m at with it all. I LOVE doing photos. LOVE it. I love living behind the lens of my camera and all, but do I love doing it as a business? I don’t know.
It’s been really fun, most of the time.
But whenever that inevitable introductory question comes up, you know the one, the: so, what do you do? Well, I very seldom answer: I’m a photographer.
Two years ago, when Chw and I decided to take on the challenge it felt a lot different than it feels now. It was an idea exciting, and artsy and full of energy…
And now?
Now I just want to simplify and feel less pulled…
And honestly, I just want to write.
NaNo felt so good. It re inspired something within me that I haven’t seen for awhile. Easily since before we started RDIM. If I were to be honest, I don’t think I’m successfully able to do both. I am realizing that about myself. Perhaps if I wasn’t a mom, {or even a homeschooling mom, of a child with RAD and hoping to grow our family at least once more…} if I wasn’t a wife… If I wasn’t a lot of things, BUT I am those things and those things come before any interests or passions I have, of my own. I don’t want to be the wife who puts mediocre meals on the table, amidst a chaotically busy week in which I take adequate photos of paying clientel, and then burn the midnight oil typing away some half hearted novel. My way of coping, in the past two years, has simply been to not write.
And it took writing again to really show me how much of me I’ve been missing.
It’s all a lot of deep soul searching that is likely stemming from the fact that I’m functioning of just a few hours of sleep after an incredibly late night followed by a super early morning and a fairly sick kid… hmm…
thoughts?
