It’s morning.  I’m writing.  Or will be writing as soon as I post this.  It’s not 5 a.m.  But it’s before work and my computer is up, I’m all made up and polished and ready for work and I know what I’m going to write this morning. 

I may not get more than half an hour to write, but it’s progress.

When I started running, I couldn’t run for 30 minutes.  So I started out walking… then I’d try running for two-minute increments.  Then three-minute increments.  No pressure — just progress. 

Progress is good.

Is envy good or bad? 

It’s up to me, I guess.  I subscribe to a publishing website that lists all sorts of book deals.  I often find myself sick with envy over some 20-something chick whose debut novel just sold for a “very nice” deal. Worse yet (or perhaps better?), I noticed today that a friend of mine actually sold his non-fiction book — a book he’s been talking about writing for years. 

Turns out he wrote it.  And sold it. 

And my friend Jenn decided recently that she really just wants to write.  So she got busy about doing it.  She found opportunities and she went after them.  She gets to spend her afternoons with her kids and I spend mine in an office THINKING about all the opportunities I’m not going after and all the time with my son that I’m missing. 

The choice is mine.  I can envy these people… or learn from them and get off my arse and make my own stuff happen. 

Or maybe both.  Yeah.  Probably both.

Baby Blue has dozens and dozens of those brightly colored rings that connect together.  They’re functional–we used them to attach toys to the stroller when he was younger… they’re educational–we’re learning our colors with them these days. 

They’re also symbolic. 

These goals I’ve been pursuing are not individual goals after all, but linked together.  They’re really quite dependent on each other, too.  When I’m not working out, I get sluggish.  Then I don’t want to eat so healthy.  Then I don’t feel like cleaning/organizing at home.  Then I’m stressed and lose the urge to write.  Then I’m cranky and don’t feel like working out. 

I went to an acupunncturist the other day with hopes he can help control a mild case of hypothyroidism.  I told him how I’d been dragging for several weeks, lacking interest in exercise, etc.  With his thick Asian accent, he gave me brilliantly simple advice:  Commit to a few minutes a day.  He was referring to exercise, I believe, but his advice applies to everything if you think about it.  I don’t have to run a marathon.  I don’t have to alphabetize the bills.  I don’t have to finish my book. And if I don’t try to do too much of one thing, I can do a little of a lot of things, each mini accomplishment fueling the next. 

Commit to a few minutes a day. 

Now if I can just learn my colors.

Years ago when I was young(er) and… brave… and a little stupid, I suppose, I got into skydiving. 

Really. 

At about $120 a jump, it was an expensive hobby for a 20-something college grad who was waiting for her big break professionally– but it was SO worth it.  I loved the rush, I loved the people, I loved the feeling of accomplishment when I reached the ground safely. Nothing in life seemed so hard after jumping out of a plane.

The first time I jumped, I went with a group of people to an obscure place in central Florida.  We  all took the class, got slotted into various flights throughout the day and met our tandem masters–the coaches who would guide us before and during the tandem jump.  We were given flotation devices to strap around our waists in case of a water landing (followed by a few jokes about what to do if we should encounter an alligator–or its angry mother).  At some point, I was told I’d be going up with a group of experienced divers… which meant a bigger plane and a higher altitude.  I thought they were joking.  They weren’t.  I’d be jumping from about 14,000 feet.  That’s 4,000 feet higher than expected.  Cool… right? 

When it was my turn at last, I was nervous, but exicited as I boarded the plane.  We sat on the floor with everyone else and waited patiently as the loud aircraft gained altitude.  Skydivers are, by definitition, a little crazy and that plane was filled with a definite nuttiness.  We reached 14,000 feet and one by one, the divers tumbled out of the plane.  But when it came time for me to jump, my tandem master and I–buckled together in 5 different places–shuffled to the front of the plane.  I approached the door hesitantly–which is pretty funny if you think about it.  Was I afraid I’d fall or what?  Kinda the point, right?  There was a steel bar that ran across the open door and I instinctively grabbed it as we approached the exit.  But before I could wrap my fingers around it, however, the tandem master karate-chopped my wrists, forcing me to let go.  He quickly counted to three and we leapt from the plane.  Even now I get butterflies thinking about the feeling of the free fall (the higher altitude meant a longer free fall).

He told me later that the karate-chop was necessary because he’d seen too many first-time jumpers grab hold of that bar and refuse to let go.  Fear has a way of giving one superhuman strength, he said, which isn’t always a good thing when you’ve paid $120 to jump from the plane. 

I landed safely that day.  And went on to jump several more times.  Sadly, however, so many years later… I find myself holding on to that steel bar right now.  Hesitant.  This is no plane either.  It’s life.  Am I afraid I’m going to fall or what?  Kinda the point isn’t it?   And this time, it’s up me to me to give myself the old karate chop and just jump. 

P.S.  I have a video of that first jump.  They edited it to two Queen songs.   I get a steely confidence whenever I hear the songs to this day.  The first (played during the flight to altitude): “One Vision.”   An excerpt:

One man one goal one mission,
One heart one soul just one solution,
One flash of light yeah one god one vision

The second song (played as I soared through the sky):  “I Want It All.” 

Enough said.

Life is pretty cool if you think about it. 

It’s easy to get stressed out about all the decisions we face every day.  And I do.  From the moment the alarm goes off, I’m off to the races, fretting about getting out of bed, knowing I should be accomplishing something, writing something, worrying that baby Blue will wake up early and derail any plans I have for the next couple hours.  Then there’s work and a million internal and external debates.  At lunch I question whether I should take a break at all and if so, what I need to do.  Work out?  Run an errand?  The pattern continues till bedtime.  No wonder I’m tired. 

Instead of stressing and fretting, I need to be celebrating.  Each decision is a gift.  I have a choice.  I have lots of choices.  I CAN work out at lunch.  I CAN spend a quiet hour in the morning working on my book.  I CAN obtain new skills and do something different professionally (if I choose).  I CAN commit to writing fiction. 

Not every decision will be fun, not every option will be a delight.  But the fact that I have choices is a good thing.

I’ve worked in the corporate world.  And I spent seven years as a freelancer.  Each has its pros and cons, of course. 

Corporate “Security” — There is a lot to be said for the job that you can count on every day… the job that allows you to actually create a budget because you have some idea of what to expect in terms of monthly income… the job that keeps on giving in terms of a neverending flow of to-do items.  And, if you have the right corporate gig, the work can be cool.  You can write about movies and attend red-carpet premieres or travel with penguins or spend weekends in high-end hotels eating 5-star dinners (and get paid for it).   But, alas, the security is not so secure (there have been several days in the last year when I learned of new lay offs and wondered if my phone would ring next)… and the hours suck. 

Freelance Freedom — Oh how I love the freedom to work when I want to work and shower at 3 p.m. if that’s what I want to do and go to a movie at 2 p.m. (and work at 2 a.m.) if that’s what makes me happy.  And now with baby, I would love the opportunity to take him to lunch on a Tuesday…. or be there for him when his butt is red and sore… or jump on a plane to hang with friends for a long weekend (with computer in tow so that I can finish that project when everyone else is asleep).  But — yes, there’s a but — the freedom of freelancing isn’t so relaxing.  There are last-minute client requests that you can’t really turn down, because you don’t want them to call someone else. And there are the weeks that the phone doesn’t ring and you wonder if it ever will (and start searching Craigslist for lame, $12/hour gigs that are SO beneath you… or worse– fulltime corporate gigs).  And you don’t know if you SHOULD book that long weekend because if you blow the cash on it — will there be another gig to pay next month’s mortgage? 

I’m pretty clear about what I want my life to look like–and I just might be the toddler in the ice cream shop who when asked, “do you want chocolate?”  “Yes!”  “Or vanilla?”  “Yes!”  “Or strawberry?”  “Yes!”  I want security.  And freedom.  And cool assignments.  And a steady paycheck that does more than cover the electric bill.  And…

In my head, I think that publishing my books will be THE answer.  But I also realize that lots of people publish books and don’t, CAN’T quit their day job.  So then what? 

There has to be a way to get what I want if I’m creative (and I AM CREATIVE). 

So let’s explore… (TBD)

In my constant quest to reach for my dreams (or more accurately, think about reaching for my dreams), I am at risk of missing the pleasures of the present.

And despite some tough times for our family financially and a job that isn’t always as rewarding as I’d like, the present is, thank God, quite amazing.  I think that it’s important to stop every now and then and enjoy the moment because I’d hate to think that 5 years from now, I’ll look back at Baby Blue’s first few years and feel like I missed it.  So I won’t. 

My favorite moments this week:

• I put Blue to bed the other night and–like he’d been doing the previous few nights–he reached through the slats of his crib and touched my leg.  I bent down and in the darkened room, I puckered up and was given the sweetest, sloppiest kiss ever through the slats of his crib followed by a heartbreaking (in a good way) giggle.  Love. LOVE. 
• Yesterday, Blue and I spent some time in his room after his nap putting together puzzles and listening to Reggae music.  At one point, he grabbed his sippy cup and came to me.  I laid back and put my head on a pillow, he laid back and put his head on my arm and we just chilled there on the floor with him finishing his milk and me basking in my son.
• We took Blue to a Children’s Park and hit a rocky rapids with him.  Blue and I held hands and walked up and down the rapids–at the top, it would rain and he had no fear of the falling water.  He had no fear of the bumpy walk to the bottom either  (though mom was not sporting river shoes and it was touch and go for a bit). 
• I was brought to tears watching a reality show that featured a particularly inconsiderate, whiny, rude and unaffectionate  husband/father.  I am so happy to have married a GOOD guy.  He loves me–and tells me all the time.  And–more importantly–shows me all the time.  He makes me dinner–even when he has to go to work.  He hugs me.  He says nice things.  He listens. He doesn’t jump at every opportunity to point out my mistakes.  He is a spectacular daddy who KNOWS our son.  He is engaged and proud to be engaged.  He’s never once dodged a dirty diaper and when Blue was tiny, my husband got up nearly every time Blue cried — even if it was a middle-of-the-night-breastfeeding dealio — he was there in case I needed him. 

So those are my moments for the last week.  There will be more, I’m sure, and I promise to pay attention.

I need a plan.  I’ve been virtually ineffective as far as my writing goes because I didn’t know really WHEN to do it.  In the morning?  My brain isn’t really functional, is it?  During my lunch hour?  My job is writing–not sure I want to write during my break — and I’d feel funny writing my own stuff at work (seems risky).  And while writing at night seems like a viable option — I’m just too tired and unmotivated after a full day of work and family. 

So now what?  I figure my days need to include the following (beyond the obvious work, etc.):

1. spend time with my family

2. work out a few days each week

3. write every single day

Here’s what I know. 

• I won’t work out at night.  It just won’t happen.  That leaves morning–which feels great… when it’s over.  Or at lunch.  The latter is actually pretty appealing because I get to break up my day and it’s pretty hard to indulge in bad treats when you just spent half an hour on a treadmill. 
• We’ve already established that I won’t write at night.  That really needs to be family time, unwind time. 

So that leaves morning.  The 20-year-old in me is screaming — NO!  NOT THE MORNING!  I’M SO NOT A MORNING PERSON.  But the adult — the one with the dream who’d like to actually give it a shot — says that’s really the only option.  There will be a certain pleasure in giving my personal writing the first stab at my brain each day, leaving the leftovers for my day job. 

So that’s the plan.

I’m not talking about losing weight (been there, done that).  Though my efforts to lose weight have shown me something important.  For me, the trick to actually accomplishing big goals is in reducing the mind-numbing options available to me. 

That meant limiting my lunch options to a salad or healthy wrap… committing to running three days a week… eliminating the cookies and rice krispy treats from my dessert options.  Things got easier the fewer choices I had. 

The key to successful writing is in the editing, many people will tell you.  I’m VERY GOOD at “cutting the fat”–eliminiting unneccessary words, phrases, paragraphs. 

I think my life needs a good editor.  And it looks like I’m the perfect person for the job.  It’s time to limit the possibilities (as odd as that may sound).  If I tell myself I’ll work out in the morning — or at lunch — I often don’t do either.  And instead of allowing myself the freedom to write morning, noon or night (which usually leads to option D — none of the above) — I need to– as I’ve said before — pick one.  Life has enough decisions each day — maybe, just maybe, cutting down in the number of things I need to contemplate every day will allow me the time to actually do something.

I have a confession:  I like watching weightloss shows.  You can’t really eat ice cream while watching people work their butts off to lose dozens of pounds.  But the real draw is in witnessing the awakening of these people.  People who have clearly made excuse after excuse over the years who are finally realizing that it’s going to take some work and sacrifice to get where they want to go.  There are always some, however, who don’t give it their all… who find new excuses… who waste a golden opportunity to achieve something they’ve wanted all their lives.   I get so frustrated watching them. 

But I find myself in that very club.  I may have lost my weight–and I’m proud of that–but I’m wasting a different golden opportunity every single day.  It’s my own reality show I call Life.  I dream of changing my lifestyle –for me and my family.  I dream of leaving the 9-to-5 world behind and writing on my terms.  I have a remarkably clear vision of what that looks like… yet I’m not really taking the steps to get there. 

What — do I think it’ll just happen? Like magic?  You can’t even win the lottery unless you buy a ticket. 

It’s funny.  I’ve gone to great lengths to figure out the plan:  how long I need to work a traditional job, what kind of deal I’d need to strike with a publisher, which bills need to be paid off, how much needs to be in savings, what personal decisions need to be made — all in order to begin the lifestyle I envision. 

But it’s sort of hard for someone to publish my books, sort of hard for lots of people to buy them, sort of hard for a big studio to buy the rights to them, and sort of hard to get contracted for the subsequent series of vast successes if I don’t actually complete and submit a book or two.

The excuses are plentiful:  I have a husband, I have a son, I have a job, the home office is a mess, the stinkin’ handyman hasn’t called back, I’m tired, there’s a weightloss show on…

A friend and colleague of mine–who’s published several books by the way–said the secret to his success was… (I waited for his trick, his recipe quite anxiously over lunch one day)… his secret was… work.  He said he set his alarm clock for 5:30 a.m., rolled out of bed and wrote for a couple hours before work every single day (and most nights, too, if I recall).  He said there were some days he was so tired that he actually wished–in those early, dark moments of the day–that he wouldn’t live to hear the damn alarm clock.  But he got up anyway.  And wrote.  Why?  If I may quote him:  “Because I was determined,” he said with an almost evil look in his eye. 

Magic indeed.