Have you ever heard that song by Reba McEntire, “Is there life out there?” I seriously wonder that sometimes. Is my life more than just getting up each day, getting the husband off to work and kids off to school and working around the house? Was I meant to do something else?
I’m not complaining about my life. I love my husband and my kids. My husband works very hard to provide for us, and because of him, I get to stay at home. And I’m not the type to just go out with friends. Unfortunately I suffer from a lot of social anxieties. Well, technically, those anxieties don’t have to be social. I can be a very anxious person. But still, because he works so hard, I’m here when the kids get sick or when unexpected snow days happen. I don’t have to worry about arranging childcare or asking for time off at a job I hate. Sometimes, I just wish life wasn’t so mundane. I don’t want the life of those on soap operas. I just want something different to happen on occasion. I want to feel like I made something of myself.
When I was younger, I wanted to be a writer. I love to read and write, but sometimes finding the time to read and/or to write can be harder than it seems. Just coming up with a topic to write about is a struggle. Case in point, this is my first post since January of 2015 and here we are less than a month away from January 2017.
Writing should be easy for me, I had the perfect childhood for a book. Born to an unwed teen mom, adopted at two by grandparents. They divorce three years later. I get shuffled back and forth between them until my dad dies when I’m six and his sister gets custody of me. That’s just the first six and a half years. Ha! That doesn’t even include all the craptastic things that happened in between all those important life moments. It has all the makings of a Lifetime movie; so why is it so hard to write about it.
Maybe I’m just not any good at the writing thing. Perhaps I lack the God given talent to write. Is it something you’re born with? Or is it something you work for… I think it’s a little of both, but when you’re a stay at home mom already struggling with daily life duties, how do you add writing into that fold?
I’m not really sure what the purpose of this post was. It’s almost midnight, everyone is asleep, except me and the exhaustion I feel is making me wonder things. So, is there life out there? Will I ever write a book and feel like for once I accomplished something…or will I continue walking down the same trail for the rest of my life…