On Being Self-Employed

99% of the time, I love my freedom.  The flexibility that comes from being able to start work immediately upon awakening while still in my jammies, or after a morning yoga session, or even from my own desk at 7 o'clock at night is a gift I'm well aware most people desire.  Still, I have my moments (today being one of them) where I just think, "I'd rather go into an office, have someone tell me what they want me to do, do it, then come home and not have to think about work any more until I go in tomorrow."

I feel a lot of pressure--pressure I put on myself--to constantly be producing something.  And so often, I feel I have little to show for my efforts.  Today, for example.  It's now almost 3pm and I've been at my desk since 9 this morning.  This morning I answered e-mails which included replying to students  about possible places for them to publish, giving my opinion to a friend on a tagline for her business, following up on trying to find a webmaster for my writers group, and a few other tasks.  All things that needed to be done, but nothing income producing.

I also spent 30 minutes composing an e-mail to the director of the new UNC-G Creative Writing Center.  My local writers group is very excited about the Center with whom we hope to partner and offer joint classes to the community.  My e-mail was an introduction to myself, our group, and proposed projects for the year.  Again, very worthwhile, but not making me any money.

This afternoon I did switch into writing gear and researched and composed 2 queries which will go out to approximately 6 different magazines.  Still, the research for facts to make the queries interesting took the better part of the afternoon, and I still have to get feedback from writer friends before I send them out, so while the queries will eventually be sent out in the hopes of getting me work...nothing is going out today. (BTW, a "query" is a pitch letter sent to a magazine where you sell them the idea you'd like to write about. Sort of like a resume for magazine articles).

Part of my frustration stems from the unknowingness of my work.  So okay, I put together two really good queries today.  That doesn't mean they'll sell.  They might, but they just as easily might get lost on an editors desk for 6 months, or they already have a similar project in the works, or they don't like the idea, or whatever.  If that's the case, then this is an afternoon wasted.

I know, cry me a river.  What a hard life I lead, having to sit here at home and fret about all this. But I'm having...not really even a down day, but more of a "Am I just wasting time? What is the point of all this?" day.  There is so much I need to accomplish: marketing for my book (which is such a beast in and of itself, I don't even know where to start), thinking about professional speaking and the marketing and positioning that goes along with that, writing my Millicent book, writing my public speaking book, keeping up with article assignments, finding new assignments, speeches for Toastmaster, volunteer work, household chores, keeping up with friends and family so they don't despair of my ever calling them again and give up on me, and so on.

Everything just eats time.  I can spend an afternoon on marketing and not make a dent.  Or, for example, yesterday afternoon I spent making calls, researching, and sending e-mails to line up interviews for the auto columns I write for the News & Record.  That's an entire afternoon spent on something I didn't enjoy and that isn't really a part of my career path.  So should I not write the column and work on "career path" items like the books? The column is at least sure money...the books are long term projects that may or may not ever yield a dime.

Just feeling frustrated today.  Nothing marching my butt into an office and having me sit there for the next 8 hours wouldn't snap me out of... :)

Movie Talkers

Blair and I went to see Narnia (fantastic--a must see!) on Christmas Day and the theatre was packed.  Families were having to split up to find a seating and, due to one family having to do this, I ended up seated next to Bob.

I knew his name was Bob because as soon as he sat down, he offered his hand and introduced himself.  Bob from New Orleans (had some flood damage but is back in his house, just here visiting family).  Bob had a deep booming voice and infectious laugh and even though I am not typically a "greet your neighbor" type of movie goer, his good nature was hard to resist and we chatted a bit.

Then the lights dimmed.  The previews included scenes from "Pirates of the Caribbean II," "Ice Age II," and a few other animated films. 

"Oops, hey, that's great!" Bob shouted during some of the previews, turning to me and grinning.  "Hey, are we seeing a kids movie or what?  Check out all these kid previews!" he called.

Bob's booming voice was not lowered a bit.   I threw Blair a warning glance.  I rank people who talk loud during movies right up there with sloths and other lower forms of life.  If you want to talk during a movie, go to Blockbuster and rent something.  The rest of us are not interested in your running commentary.

For the most part, my fears about Bob proved unfounded.  Once or twice he made a loud remark (like at the end when the grown kids stumble across the lamppost and Bob said, "Hey now! Watch--they're gonna find their way back!") but for the most part, we were left to enjoy the movie.

I feel bad for thinking even slightly ill of Bob.  He really was a fun, nice guy.  Two little boys, around age 9, were settled into the seats beside him, separate from their parents, and Bob leaned over and said to them, "Hey!  I've got Junior Mints so we can have us some when the movie starts. What's a movie without Junior Mints?"

I think it's more of a reflection of my uprightness than it is Bob's personality.  Not that I'm wound all that tight, but I expect certain niceties such as not talking in movies to be followed and I get more upset than the situation warrants when the rules aren't followed.  I was a little tense during the most of the movie because I kept waiting for Bob to talk and ruin it for me, which is nobody's fault but my own.

So Bob, should our paths ever cross again, I'll sit beside you in the theatre and learn to relax.  Hey now--we can even share us some Junior Mints.  My treat.

Right Hand Turns

A word to a few select drivers (and you know who you are) about right hand turns.  Ahem.

Is it really so friggin' difficult to make a right-hand turn? Do you think you might ever consider living on the edge every now and then and not come to a complete stop before turning right?  Life is short, so carpe diem, baby. Why not try whipping that car to the right at the speed of, say, at least 5 mph?

But, if you feel for safety's sake you absolutely must come to a complete stop, is there any chance of you burning off a few calories by raising your arm the 4 inches it takes to move your turn signal to the "right turn indicator" position?  That way those of us behind you don't wonder why you slammed on brakes and came to a complete stop for no reason in the middle of moving traffic.

Your cooperation in this matter would be greatly appreciated.  Thank you.

Holidays With Relatives

If ever I'm in left in any doubt that God has a sense of humor, I just stop and look at the family I married into.  Southern, Baptist, republican, gun-toting, men-rule-the-roost conservatives, I couldn't find a more polar opposite family to marry into if I tried.

Not that they were thrilled with Blair's choice of a bride.  A mid-west, liberal, vegetarian, new age spiritualist who likes to mouth off her opinions, I was probably the closest version to Hell on earth they'd ever experienced.

Not that they would have the bad manners (as I did) to show it.  Everyone here in the South puts on a good face and my in-law relatives have never been anything but kind to me.  Still, meeting them was a shock.  In every relationship prior to Blair, I had been "the catch."  Mothers loved me.  So much so that when relationships ended, the moms would be calling me to see if things could be repaired.  So it was a real ego-jolt to meet Blair's family and realize not only was there to be no love-fest celebrating my very existence (!), deep at heart they were all hoping I would go away.

It took years for me to be even vaguely comfortable with them.  I remember the first Christmas we spent at my mother and father-in-laws.  Like any family, they have their own traditions around opening gifts.  My family's tradition involved ripping into our presents like mad-dogs hoping for a beef jerky treat.  Noise, shouts, laughs, and confusion reigned.

Gift opening at the in-laws was a bit different.  My father-in-law would haul out this rickety spotlight worthy of a Hollywood film stage and each of us would sit individually in what I came to affectionately refer to as "the chair of death."  Then he would film each of us opening our gifts.  I was okay with that part.  What rocked my world was that there was close to absolute silence while this was done, I guess so stray conversations or noise didn't mess up the holiday tape.  So each of us would sit there in a police spotlight, camera trained on our every move, while everyone sat in a circle outside the light and stared, silently, as you opened a gift, raised it to the camera, smiled and nodded a thank you to whoever bought it for you, and then moved to the next.

I learned to open gifts with record-fast speed that year.

But things improved, mainly after I matured (all of you who know me--shut it.  I'm a work in progress) and realized I could not--no matter how hard I tried or desired it--change these people. And I stopped fighting so hard.  I admit, I was an extremely unpleasant person to be around on holiday visits those first few years as I considered it my personal duty to point out to everyone how WRONG they were about everything and give a detailed list of reasons why.  I have a very patient husband.

I don't really know how I got on this line of thought other than we had lunch with my brother and sister-in-laws and their kids the other day and it struck me how much I still have to work for conversation.  Even after 13 years, it doesn't come easy. 

And yet, I can enjoy being around them now.  Now that I've accepted they won't change, some of their traits that used to send me into the wall now make me laugh. And maybe they've come to appreciate a thing or two about me (maybe).

These aren't people I would hang out with if we weren't related, but maybe God knows this and that's why he places certain people in our path.  To learn lessons that maybe we wouldn't be so brave or eager to seek out on our own. Lessons I've learned from my relatives include patience, tolerance, and an understanding that I don't have to like every aspect of a person in order to appreciate them fully as a person.  And that's just the skim of it. 

When people come into your life you don't care for or have a negative reaction to--take a closer look. 

They're always there for a reason.