Lately, I’ve been jumping from story to story. I’ll get an idea, get excited, and work on it for a few weeks. Then I’ll get another idea and switch projects for a while. Whenever I tell people that I’m working on a new story, I cringe, ready for them to tell me I’m being flighty or avoiding work. Today, I remembered that it actually didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

This may not be a revelation to some of you, but I live in dread of the day when the police raid my house and put up yellow tape reading “Caution: Imposter.” They’ll print up my terrible rough drafts and distribute them as informational pamplets about How Not To Do Things. They’ll take away my pajamas and tell me that I must wear real clothes while doing my work. And tell me that, no, reading picture books doesn’t count as being productive.

Yes, I’m a person who’s spent most of my life trying to be good. To do things the right way. But now I’m realizing two important things.

1.Being ‘good’ is not such a great thing to be. Being good means doing what other people want. Not a very satisfying way to live.

2. There is only ‘my way’ and ‘other people’s ways’. And they don’t have to be the same thing.

Sometimes I forget about the best parts about being an adult. Eating ice cream for dinner. Watching that movie before you get all your chores done. Working on the projects you think are important.

Posted in Writing

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