I am feeling anxious this morning. First of all, I hadn’t expected that my student numbers would be down this year. At this point, I have three parents who have asked if their children can come every other week instead of every week, the first time in my thirteen years of doing this type of work that this has happened. This makes me aware the economy is not doing well since as the smallest of business owners, I feel the pulse sooner than most. Still, my goodness. That means that I have fewer spots filled and I have no new students, which is not that unusual for the first of the year. Usually parents start to realize their child needs help a few weeks into the school year and at that point, I start to get phone calls. But as a self-employed person, I am aware that I am starting the school year more off than usual and that’s not a good feeling.
Second, I have a physical problem. The upper part of my right foot has been swelling for the past few weeks and I don’t know what is causing this. Plus, on the same leg, my lower calf has a dent in the side of it, as if my muscle is wasting. I noticed this a couple of years ago, but now that dent seems to be growing. My foot also has some tingling happening and periodically, the ends of two or three toes have a constant sharp pain. This makes me feel nervous, as if there is perhaps a hidden health issue lurking that I am not aware of and which could affect the quality of my life in a big way. Fear. Yes, that appears to be the underlying theme this morning.
On top of that, I feel unsure about my writing. I blog everyday, but am doing nothing else, or virtually nothing else, writing-wise. I have been thinking a lot about my novel, but not writing any more pages. I can’t tell if that’s because it’s still incubating or if it’s just a dead-end idea, or if I am just not mustering up the where-withal to get on with it. It’s true I have written a few blog posts that are worthy of developing and/or are good enough in their present state to submit for publication, but I must admit that I am discouraged all-round with my success or lack thereof in the writing world. Yes, I am published in a few presses and online on a few strong sites, but overall, I am not where I had hoped I’d be by this point in my life. I thought that I would have some major publications by now and at least one book published and I do not. I write a lot and teach writing a lot and in some ways my writing is better, stronger, more fluid, deeper, but even that, I’m not totally sure of. Perhaps I am like that older man in my writing group from a few years back who had written five books and they were all equally bad. Yikes. Now, that strikes painfully close to a real, deep, and terrifying fear of mine.
Not to mention that I am getting older and that fact is a little scary. I now think differently than I ever have. “Oh,” I say to myself, “I have maybe another ten years to really work hard before I start getting tired of working hard.” Or, “I hope my health holds up so I can have that ten, fifteen, or twenty years I have left.” Dear Lord, I have not ever thought that way, but I was never before looking straight at sixty in just a few months. Health, productivity, longevity, yes, these are now part of my awareness in a way they have never been before. They are part of an internal conversation I have with myself and those thoughts are beginning to influence the choices I am making now, as well as the possibility of future choices. No more “waiting” for that perfect moment to do something. I am aware that now is now and I might not have the luxury of doing that “when I’m older.” From all accounts, I am older. How did that happen?
Yes, today, life feels a bit as if it’s pressing in or showing itself a little more clearly than usual. Is this why I stay so busy, so I won’t look at these realities, these fears? Or does being busy lift the mood and shift perspective on these issues? Perhaps the answer is yes and yes.
I feel better putting all of this on the page. No answers. No remedies. No resolutions. Just an admission that sometimes I wake up afraid of what I have and haven’t done; am and am not doing; will and will not do. Ugh. Staring down the barrel of my personal truth at a reality that isn’t exactly what I had planned.
There is one positive outcome from my less-than-perfect life performance. I have learned compassion for others and their life struggles. I am aware that this is good.
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