Time

There’s so much I’d like to do with my life, and only so much time in which to do it: read through my monstrous TBR pile, publish, write the books I’ve planned, spend time with friends and family, make crafts I’ve planned or half-finished. I have so many dreams, and yet my time seems to get swallowed up doing other things. Things like Netflix bingeing, reading every link that comes up on my Facebook or Twitter feed, or playing stupid games on my tablet.

Is this really what I want to be doing with my life?

I’d much rather look back and say, “I put all of my energy into writing my books, into becoming the best writer possible, into becoming the best child of God possible,” than say, “I played every level of that game and beat my high score every week!” I want to do worthwhile things with my time, things that glorify God, things that make the world better, things that bring joy to myself and others.

I’m not sure how to switch gears. Things are so bad right now that I get on my tablet first thing in the morning and last thing before bed, to take a break, to get ready to do something, just because I’m bored… There are so many better ways I could be using my time.

I’ve been trying to consciously resist the urge to pop open my tablet whenever I’m bored. But habits are hard to break. I’m not sure what my next step is; every bad habit I develop I seem to find a different way to break, because nothing that’s worked before worked again. My brain is an odd place.

I want to live to the fullest, one day–one moment–at a time. For me, that doesn’t necessarily mean a life full of extraordinary experiences. It means more living a life full of the things that are important: God, friends, family, writing. A life full of serving God, serving others, hard work, honesty. Things that aren’t easy, unlike checking Facebook every five minutes. That’s the epitome of easy.

I need to find a way to pick what’s important over what’s easy. I’ve started here, and now I’m going to go do it some more, one moment at a time.

Discovering Joy

I haven’t been writing much lately, as you can see. In one way, this is a source of deep sorrow; my soul cries out for that experience again. But I’ve discovered so many other sources of joy, sources that have crowded out writing: the joy of food, cooked and savored and eaten with others; the joy of summer evening walks; the joy of late-night conversations, when the walls seem to come down and you’re mutually vulnerable and forgiving; the joys of spending time with friends, to leisurely have a cup of tea or a meal or watch a movie together; the joys of moving through life slowly, stopping to watch a butterfly or examine a flower or admire a beautiful old building.

I need to start writing again. I have several projects in the works, deadlines starting to loom, but it has been an amazing few weeks. I’ve learned to savor, to slow down, to enjoy things I’ve never made time for before. I love discovering joy in unexpected places!

Currently, vol. 1

(These prompts came from michmash, one of my favorite blogs)

Feeling: Tired. It was a long day at work, and I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s an odd mix with the energy I just got from going on a walk. I’m loving the non-seasonal cloudy, cool weather here!

Craving: Chocolate, always. And a day to myself.

Watching: Nothing, actually. I just finished rewatching the good episodes of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, which I adore even though Miss Fisher is one of the worst role models ever. The sets and music are just so beautiful! And soon I’ll be starting the last season of White Collar, another show I adore despite the utter lack of morality.

Listening: To Star Wars soundtracks. What gorgeous, inspiring music!

Drinking: Water.

Reading: C. S. Lewis’ Surprised by Joy. I bought it from a library sale for $1, having no idea what it was about. It’s Lewis’ autobiography, and I find it so relatable.

Planning: Tomorrow: what to write, how to finish my library book on time, and how much of other important things to try and fit in.

Making: A scrap rug and a scarf for a friend. Both projects are starting to seem never-ending.

Cooking: Ha! Does putting cheese on bread and sticking it in the oven count? Because I just did that a few hours ago.

Thinking: Hm. About how the Bible isn’t just a resource for theology, but so much more. About the joy that comes from doing things slowly. About the importance of relationships, and making time for them. About what to write!

Loving: Cool and cloudy weather! Also good food of all varieties, and the chance to talk to friends. It’s been a good day.

Fear and Healing

It’s been a while since I posted on here last. It wasn’t just the blog; I’ve struggled to write at all these past two weeks.

I’ve been afraid.

Sometimes writing just scares the living daylight out of me! The responsibility of putting those words on paper, the temptation to take my writing in all the wrong directions, the obsession that’s waiting to pounce, the desire for perfection (compounded by the knowledge that that’s an impossibility), the pressure to be a certain something to have my writing accepted: all of it combines into one giant fear of writing, and I haven’t written much lately.

These are the times when I feel crazy for wanting to be a writer. I want to do something that I’m afraid of?!? Well, yes. Because it’s not that I want to be a writer. I am a writer. I can’t not write. Not really. I go stir-crazy, things bottling up in my head. So I’ve been going a bit stir crazy lately, in addition to everything else.

And, in the end, I gave in, in a way. I stopped writing for a few days, focused on something else entirely. This post wasn’t too hard to write, and the prospect didn’t scare me. Instead, writing it has made me feel light and whole.

Beginnings

So. The beginning of this blog. What am I doing here? I’m not entirely sure. That’s a great way to start a blog, huh? Maybe not so much.

I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I’m not sure what will go on this blog. I just want to write. Writing is my life, my passion. When I don’t write, I get grumpy and suffocated and things stop making sense. Writing is how I make sense of the world. Writing is how I make sense of my feelings. Writing isn’t a hobby for me, it’s a necessity. A need, one that runs as deep as water or food.

Writing forces me to slow down. To listen: to myself, to God. God is always right there when I write, nudging and whispering and inspiring. Writing with God is a beautiful, terrifying, wonderful thing. I never know where it’s going, where I’m going. It takes a lot of trust. It’s the most profound prayer I’ve ever experienced.

And now I want to share that. I want to write. I want to write for others. I want to be published. And I suppose this is the first step.

Join me?