We are 8 weeks-ish away from having this baby. Driving home in the car today I realized a few things and promptly began to cry. I haven't cried in the car for a while now. Part of it is hormones, but part of it is this.
I will not be a writer. There are many reasons for this, a lot of them my fault, a lot of them outside of my control. Having one child has drained me, having two may suck me dry. I like having things, and to have things you must have money, and to have money you must work a steady gig. These are the practical points. I also seem to lack motivation, drive. And fear of failing has paralyzed me. These are the things inside me that I can't seem to push aside.
I may retire to writing. But it won't be the same. It will be the cliche, which I will find annoying and dissatisfying. My kids may not even know it's something I ever wanted.
I am 33 and I will not be a writer. I will continue to work a job that I love enough. I will raise my children feeling a little resentful and thus a lot guilty. I will have moments of inspiration that I let sweep on by because I know I'll never build on them, or because I'm too afraid to. I will continue to have a great life with a fantastic partner, but I will continue to feel unsatisfied. But I realize and will try to remind myself that I am not lacking in anything - having things is not going to fill the space that my inaction has left.
