Last week I stopped writing.

Not completely, of course. I have clients, I have contractual work to deliver. I continued writing where I had to. I continued writing about the things that matter less to me; stuff that has nothing to do with how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking.

For almost eight years I’ve maintained a personal blog, and it’s been my refuge to work out my talky impulses when it comes to sorting through things. That blog has seen me through the majority of my kids’ lives (and trials and tribulations therein), several romantic relationships (and lack thereof), remarriage, relocation, everything. Everything. Before that, I journaled. For most of my life. Writing about my life has been central to my existence for a long time.

And last week I looked at the “New Post” screen and just couldn’t do it.
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We talk a lot about balance, ’round here. Work/life balance. Mother/wife balance. Mother/person balance. Balance is not an unfamiliar concept to anyone trying to manage a career and a life at the same time.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about this balance as it pertains to being a woman and solopreneur, generally, and how it pertains to being a woman and a writer, in particular.

Now before I go any further I will hasten to point out that I admire lots and lots of male writers as well, and nothing I’m about to say is designed to indicate that only women do what I’m about to discuss. I’m just going to talk about woman because, well, I am one and I know that for me it’s a big part of what I bring to the table as a writer.
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“Guilt and jealousy are useless emotions.” How many times have I said this to my children? I can’t even say; it’s something I’ve believed for a long time. Or, at least, I used to. I still think guilt is a useless emotion, but I’ve changed my mind about jealousy, a bit.

This is from a number of months back, but I have it bookmarked and visit it often. Are you reading the fabulous Helen Jane? You should be. The post in question is called Healing from Painful Comparison, and it contains (among other awesome tidbits), this:

Jealousy is a very accurate map as to what’s missing. When I pay attention to jealousy, I’m much happier.

So how do I get out of the jealousy trap?
I make a jealousy map.

I fold a piece of paper into three columns and write at the top of the first column, “WHO.” On the top of the second column, I write, “WHY” and on the third column, I write “SO NOW WHAT?”

I love this because it’s a very practical way to deal with feeling Less Than or Cheated, and to turn it around into something that’s about bettering yourself rather than tearing down someone else. And this goes double for anyone who thinks they’re “above” jealousy.
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The great thing about making a living writing online is that you can do it from anywhere; have Internet, will travel. You don’t need a fancy office. You don’t have to spend thousands on start-up costs. It’s an incredibly accessible field—if you have something to say and an engaging way of saying it, chances are you can build a following and make some money. But the terrible thing about making a living writing online is that you are dependent on the services of others for your work to exist. Write a book, get published, and the book doesn’t disappear off the store’s shelves every time the power goes out. If someone gets angry at you, your book doesn’t vanish into thin air. And I think the criticism leveled at online writers for raising their voices when they feel they’ve been done wrong is often particularly harsh, as if having a platform is somehow unfair or shameful.

I’ve written about bits and pieces of this in the past, but I’m thinking about it today because of the recent post by Darren Rowse (a.k.a. ProBlogger) detailing his mysterious suspension from YouTube. The post itself (and the updates; Rowse’s account was later reinstated just as mysteriously as it had been frozen) is worth reading, not just for the actual information but because he manages to infuse what must’ve been a maddening situation with a bit of humor, even while frustrated.
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My father is “retired.” Not retired, but “retired.” The quotes are necessary because he still works.

Huh?

The deal is this: A few years back, my father decided it was time to retire. He wanted to spend more time on leisure pursuits, and wanted the freedom to be able to travel more often. We all applauded his decision. And I believe the original plan was that he’d continue working something like 10-20 hours at the office each week that he wasn’t out of town. But because he’s my dad, and because he doesn’t really know how to retire, he is, instead, “retired”: He works full time whenever he’s not otherwise occupied, but occasionally takes off for trips and such. We tease him about it, but his justification is simple: He enjoys working.

I enjoy working, too, but make no bones about it: If I could afford to stop, I would. I think. I mean, I don’t know, that’s probably what my dad thought, too.
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I recently started taking yoga again, because the opportunity presented itself (the class is nearby and conveniently scheduled) and because it’s possible that I tend to be just a tiny bit high-strung (NO REALLY). I love the way yoga makes me feel, both physically and emotionally. If I’m able to just let go of everything else and enjoy it, it’s a really wonderful way to feel refreshed and centered for at least an hour.

Of course, whenever we do any poses in class that require me to balance on one foot, I try very hard to calm my mind and my body and be one with my mat and all of that, and to just stand still… but in reality I weave from side to side and my muscles shudder and twitch and my “up” foot thumps to the floor as I catch myself from falling on my face. My balance, you see, isn’t all that great. And that turns out to be a great metaphor for balance in my life, actually, because as much as I want it, the rare times I achieve it are shaky at best, and short-lived. At some point the other foot—metaphorical or real—has to hit the floor again to prevent disaster.

I suppose it’s no wonder that I gravitate towards writing and people that reiterate that work-life balance is merely a myth we all want to believe. That’s comforting, knowing I’m not the only one who just can’t seem to get it right.
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Anyone who knows me knows that I am a consummate planner. I am the opposite of spontaneous. I like to know what’s happening, and when, and how, and so—to some extent—it’s rather hilarious that I’m a freelancer, because freelancing typically does not afford one the level of predictability I really crave as a lifelong control freak. (Yes, it’s okay to laugh. I’m laughing.) Of course, part of the reason I’ve found success as a freelancer is precisely because I crave order and am generally very good about planning and organizing.

But. Despite the fact that I think of myself as a “creative person” (whatever that means), I tend to have a very all-business outlook when it comes to my work. I run the numbers. I figure out how to make money; I pour my time and energy into what’s most lucrative, first, and what actually speaks to me on a creative level is sometimes a secondary consideration. It’s true that I generally don’t start down a business path unless it’s something that speaks to me somehow, to begin with, but once I’m on that path, I’m all about what makes sense from a business perspective.

And that’s good. Except when it’s bad. Because all work and no “gut” makes Mir a dull writer. I’m thinking about 2011 being a year to reclaim my creativity.
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Before I get started on what I really want to talk about today, here’s our book winner from last week: The random number generator selected commenter number 2, Shannon. Congratulations, Shannon! Please check your email.

But what I want to say is this: My last nerve is fraying. I’m overwhelmed. I’m behind on work and my house is a mess. I lay awake at night indulging my every paranoid fantasy about everything that can possibly go wrong, and then I get up in the morning and drink too much coffee and am short-tempered with my family and late and sloppy with my work.

I need a week off. I can’t have a week off.

And so I’ve gone from doing the juggle to merely cleaning up whatever has made the biggest mess on the floor when I dropped it. It’s not a very good way to live. And it’s a terrible way to run a business. I know it’s not going to work forever.

But this is where I am right now. It sucks, on all fronts.
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This past weekend I went to Chicago. More specifically, this past weekend I went on an all-expenses-paid trip to Chicago for Save Up 2010, as an invited guest of Savings.com.

I had no idea what to expect from this trip. In fact, part of the selection process involved garnering votes, and I don’t think I have to tell you that having to campaign for myself is right there on my list of super-fun activities, somewhere between “jabbing sharp things underneath my nails” and “cleaning up vomit.” The fact that I had to ask my community to vote me up made me uneasy, and the selection process was sort of opaque (”voting is just one of many factors we’ll consider”), which made me—for lack of a better descriptor—a little suspicious, too.

But I’m trying to grow Want Not, and this seemed like a good opportunity to do that, so I applied, I was selected, and I went. And I’m thrilled to say that it completely exceeded my expectations.
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I don’t know if you know this, but I’m kind of a big deal.

Writing that makes me laugh. A few weeks ago I met up with some friends for coffee, and met another parent from my daughter’s school for the first time. When she asked me what I do, before I could respond, one of my friends said, “She’s a famous blogger!” I laughed and leaned in, conspiratorially.

“It’s true,” I said. “I am totally famous… on the Internet.” We all had a good laugh.

There is a reason I write for a living, from my home office. There’s a reason I don’t often tell people what I do. I enjoy relative anonymity, here in my small(ish) town. And that’s the way I like it. I think it would be a drag to have people recognize me at Publix while I’m trying to select a cantaloupe. I have friends and colleagues who are much more “known” than I am, and that suits me just fine.

Perhaps it’s because I generally enjoy flying below the radar that receiving an award makes me feel… kind of bad.
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