a house of the tuckered-out.
Darin is asleep on the couch. Sophia is asleep in her crib. It's 4 in the afternoon, and the only noise in the house is the sound of Darin snoring. It's nice. It feels good, being the only one awake. For once -- I've been the big sleeper around here of late.
Oh hi. It's me. I'm taking a break from doing whatever the heck it is I've been doing to check in. These past two weeks -- only two weeks? -- were an unexpected hiatus for me. Not just from the journal, but from many things, including many of my online habits, and offline ones. I have checked very few journals in the past two weeks. Even fewer forums (including my own). Most of the online sites I'd check out on a daily or semi-weekly basis? Nope.
Because a lot of my online habits had to do with furious activity: checking on who's doing what, keeping up to date on this, that, or the other, comparing what I'm doing to what everyone else is doing. I had a little bit of that craziness offline as well, and I've just let it all fall away.
I don't know how to describe what's happened other than I've been experiencing...
...how do I say this?...
...how do I say this without sounding like a whacked-out Californian?...
...contentment. With my life. With my family. With being a mom. With what I'm doing. With what I'm not doing. I've been fairly blissed out, enjoying each moment as it's happening.
(Okay, maybe there's no way to escape the Californian factor.)
You may not think that sounds particularly momentous, but it is. For me, at any rate. I used to have white noise of dissatisfaction constantly droning in the background, and the only way I discovered that white noise was there was by its absence. I've always had an inner monologue going on what I'm not doing, about what I didn't have, rather than being able to focus on what I did have.
Of late, I've been focusing on what I do have and how happy I am. I feel abashed at admitting it, because it's not acceptable to tell people you're happy. I think we have a culture fixated on achieving happiness without permission to actually be happy.
The most remarkable thing has been with my writing. For as long as I can remember, I have had an inner voice berating me for not writing enough, for not being successful enough with what I have written. That voice is on hold for the time being. I can write, or I can do no writing, and both are okay. If I'm not writing, I can play with my baby, or I can run errands, or I can just sit around and read or something.
One of the remarkable upshots of this is, of course, I am writing. Quite a lot, in fact. I am dedicated to finishing my mystery novel, and at the same time I'm getting an idea or two for a screenplay (which hasn't happened in, dare I say it, over a year). I'm enjoying writing the novel, which is not that unusual of a situation. What is unusual is, I find myself thinking about it at odd moments -- going to sleep, taking a walk with Sophia, while driving with the radio off.
Last year at the Austin Screenwriters Festival Callie Khouri (Thelma and Louise) said that when she is working on a project and someone interrupts her to tell her something, she finds herself thinking, What does this have to do with my story? That sort of experience had never happened to me before. It happens to me all the time now. It's really cool.
I'm also being relaxed about the future. I want to be successful, of course, but being hyped up about it all the time wasn't doing me any good and was making me miserable. What are you doing? Are you taking advantage of x, y, or z right now? Who's getting ahead of you?
Case in point: I met with a few members of the mystery writing group and Jerrilyn for coffee last week. We discussed a)how cute Pookie is, b)how our writing was going, c)mysteries we have read, and d)the mystery business. Of all of these, (d) was the least interesting to me. Because it's not that important right now, you know? Worry about it when I've got something to be published. Thinking about it right now isn't going to do me one damn bit of good, and I've got more important things to think about that will.
At the moment, I'm completely copacetic about the future. Nothing has to happen -- it will. I honestly believe that. When I feel I'm truly ready and have something I can imagine putting a big push behind, I will. Maybe this is some kind of bizarre rationalization, but I don't think it is.
Because I feel joyful. And relaxed. And excited. And happy.
Of course, I don't know how interesting a journal that would make.
I have things I want to work on, of course. I haven't lost the weight I gained while pregnant, and while it wasn't much, I managed to go from a size 6 to a size 12. I have to take steps to right that. For example, I have to eat less. And more importantly, I have to start exercising again, whether I go for a jog in the morning (I have bought a jogging stroller) or join a health club or whatever.
I've also been reading a lot recently (mostly mysteries) and I've noticed an elegance in other people's writing, a way they use turns of phrase and poetic imagery I don't. My attitude at the moment toward this is, I want to add that to my writing, so I will work at doing so. I know my attitude in the past: gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, helplessness in the face of not already having those skills.
I should put up mini-reviews of those mysteries, I guess. I've read some good ones, and I've read some godawful ones. Yes, I am pleased to announce there are actually mysteries I enjoy reading.
Sophia, the Wonder Baby, is crawling. She hasn't mastered it yet: she gets all tripped up trying to remember whether the hand or the knee goes first. Evidently at some point she will put it all together and start speeding across the carpet, but I'm in no hurry for that to happen.
She also had her first swim lesson. This mostly consisted of acquainting her with the pool, spinning her around, introducing her to the edge of the pool (and putting her hands on it).
I think as soon as she figures out that she can kick her feet at will in the pool, I won't be able to get her out of the water.
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Copyright 2000 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@nobody-knows-anything.com