The Least I Could Do Is Express My Love For Something.
Dear Domestiphobia Readers,
I am going to write a novel.
It’s out there. No backsies.
I can say it here because I love and trust you awesomely supportive people who stop by on occasion to read what I write, but I also suspect that a necessary number of you are hardasses who might occasionally decide to hold me accountable for the things I say and maybe every-now-and-then ask, “Hey Katie, didn’t you say you were writing a book? Yeah? How’s that coming?”
And then I could give you a virtual high-five and reply, “Just swimmingly! I’m so glad you asked. I’m rockin’ this whole novel thing. I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s so hard.”
Or, more realistically, “Oh yeah. I did say that, didn’t I? I should probably get started.”
I’ve decided that it’s going to be my Valentine’s day gift to myself — the start of my book. Because Justin and I are horrible at Valentine’s gift-giving, and if we’re not going to cave to the commercial aspect of the holiday, the least I could do is express my love for something. And this year, I think, is the year for writing.
Take that, Hallmark.
Pick a mountain. Any mountain.
Often, I beat myself up emotionally because I’m not a mother and I don’t have a big-time career.
But for women, it’s simple. You either achieve one or the other or both.
Yet I’ve given my mother nothing to brag about. (Aside from the fact that she has a really impressive son in-law.)
And it’s time that changed. Not for her, but for me. (Don’t worry — I plan on keeping Justin.)
You might not know it, but you’ve actually held me accountable for other grand declarations in the past — some of which I’ve achieved, like gaining location-independent employment, and others at which I’ve failed miserably, like becoming a professional blogger. Putting it out there for you to read ensures my own mental follow-through. I at least have to try. And my subsequent occasional failures are totally embarrassing but mostly okay because you know what? They help steer me towards the right path. It’s time to pick a mountain — just ONE mountain — and climb the damn thing.
My problem is and always has been my desire to do all the things.
I want to travel the world. I want to head a charitable organization. I want to help others realize their potential and achieve their dreams. I want to design and build a sustainable smart home. I want to open a gourmet food shop featuring Justin’s cheesecakes and hand-selected imports from all over the globe. I want to be a positive influence in a young person’s life. I want to work for amazing, creative, and talented people. I want to practice yoga every day and I want to make wine. I want to watch the entire series of 24 uninterrupted in my perfectly decorated sunroom while snacking on homemade trail mix comprised of my own roasted organic peanuts and cranberries I harvested and dehydrated myself.
And the thing is, it is possible to do many of the things through the course of one lifetime, but it’s damn near impossible if you’re trying to do them all at once.
So I have to pick a mountain. Any mountain. And once I pick it, every decision I make henceforth (I’ve always wanted to use that word) will be butter because I’ll just have to ask myself, “Hey — does this choice take me closer to or further from the summit?”
My mountain is a novel.
Which doesn’t mean I have to drop all of the other goals. Some, like finishing this house, just have to get done because in military life, a move is inevitable. And some of them — like working for amazing, creative, and talented people — are helping me get to base camp. (Because if I have a flexible, location-independent, motivational job I can enjoy while earning an income, I’ve then earned the luxury of selfishly holing myself up to write in my free time.)
It’s a win-win for everyone.
This Valentine’s day I’ve given myself something special. A mountain. A focal point towards which to work while enjoying blogging, my virtual assistant career, my travel networking, my home renovating, my eating, and everything else in between.
What’s your mountain?
Maybe we can encourage each other.