MamaManagement

Sometime over the last year or two, writing went from being my hobby to being something more of a vocation. It's not because I started making money at it (I haven't really...yet), but I committed to it in a way that made it somehow different. I set goals, objectives, and timelines. I started investing more time, and more-than-just my time, in it; I'm spending money to attend conferences and workshops; I've joined writer organizations; and I'm querying my work to agents. You know, stuff that makes it feel more like a legit, budding career. It's great and I'm happy with the path I'm on with my writing. I'm growing and developing and really loving it. BUT, what used to be just a creative outlet for me is now somehow changed. And that change left a little hole in my creative brain space. I realize now that I need a creative outlet that is about nothing more than relaxing, enjoying, and creating. No real goals or objectives or timelines. Just joy. ...

As I slowly evolve into an essential oil-using, organic food-eating, affirmation-saying, meditation-doing, Birkenstock-wearing, flowy dress-owning, new age granola lady (my evolution finish line will be Frankie from Grace & Frankie...which may involve moving to Canada), I find that a lot of the "skills" I built up during my twenties and thirties aren't really serving me well in the life I want to live today. Looking back, I see that much of what I was doing back then was cultivating survival skills. I was building my armor, proving myself as strong and independent and can-do. I was toughening up and accomplishing. And, as any good over-achiever (perfectionist/worthiness-seeker) would do, I took it too far. So now, in my forties, I find the need to soften...in most every sense of the word. To allow for softness. At 23, during my first performance review at my first real job out of college, I remember biting the inside of my cheek and and pinching the side of m...