The Struggle is Real

As I mentioned awhile back, I left my job in government to fulfill my passion and pursue my writing career.

I also subsequently bitched about it. 

Because here's the thing. Are you ready? Imma 'bout to drop a truth bomb on your face. Here goes...

Being a writer is hard.

Yeah, I said it. Fight me.

Yes, I am pursuing my dreams. Yes, I love it. Yes, it also sometimes sucks a little bit.

And because of this, there are some times... okay, most times actually, where I have a little bit of hesitation in telling people what I do for a living.

"Oh, you're a writer? That's so fun!"

No Karen, it is not fun. It's actually somewhat soul sucking and plunges me into the occasional existential crisis.

"You should write my life story!"

LOL Debra... your life story isn't that interesting. Also I require a retainer for such services and I doubt you planned on paying me. My time is not free. Run along.

"Tell me what your story is about!"

Put simply .... no.

"How's your writing going?"

*open weeping whilst chugging white wine* It's fine. This is fine. Everything's fine. 

When I tell people I'm a writer, I usually get some variation of this, or a darling anecdote about their brother's neighbor's dog walker's college roommate who wrote a thing once for funsies that may or may not have gotten published by a big publishing house because of some fun little twist of luck.

Cool. Thanks for sharing.

Does that sound bitchy? Oh well. Ask me how much I care. (Kidding... mostly.)

In actuality, I am hugely supportive of anyone who has the cojones to purge their heart and soul onto paper and dare to send it out into the world. Because that's what writing is. That's what any art is. You're taking a vulnerable little piece of yourself and exposing it to the world, hoping to not get clobbered in the process.

More often than not though, you still get clobbered. Very few of us get to be that brother's neighbor's dog walker's whoever it was. 

And that's why I'm arguably a little pissy in my responses. Let me explain.

It took me years, YEARS, to finally fully commit to my writing career. And even once I finally bit the bullet and did so, it's not like anyone from The Big 5* immediately came a-knocking on my door. 

This is not a "if you build it, they will come" kind of thing. 

It's a "constant grind, keep plugging away, write every damn day despite all the self-doubt and writer's block and obstacles that get in your way" kind of thing. 

It's a "everyone will doubt you and judge you and you have to ignore it even when you doubt yourself because crazy hard work and hustle is the only way this pays off" kind of thing.

*For those not in the know, the Big 5 are the major U.S. publishing houses, and suffice it to say, they don't give a flying fuck that I (or anyone else) decided to put my big girl panties on and pursue my dream. True facts. But I digress.

When I tell people that I'm a writer and their response is anything other than "ouch, here's more coffee", it's immediately clear they don't get it. 

The sacrifice, the struggle, and blood, sweat, and tears you pour into your work only to have a client, publisher, or agent tell you it's "not Twilight-y enough".

Um, thanks Greg, but that was kind of the point. 

You see, writing is not just sitting down with a happy little cup of coffee and productively typing away for an hour and boom, finished product. And if this how it is for you, well then, with all due respect, kindly fuck off. Because I do not know a single writer for whom the process of creating quality work is easy and painless. On the contrary, it can be pretty fucking brutal trying to get into words the exact thing you're picturing in your mind's eye. 

Words are hard. 

Words are stupid. 

Words are a time consuming clusterfuck of emotions.

Ask any writer.

It's a love-hate type of thing, and some days the hate part really wins out. It is a struggle to create, to produce, to bring about a physical manifestation of your imagination. And when you get brave enough to share that struggle with someone and they don't understand it or respect it? It crushes you.

Writing is not as simple as non-writers think. It's not easy. It's not this quaint little way to pass time. And when you have a scene, or a story, or the perfect set of dialogue right at the tip of your brain but you can't express it the way you want to? Or when you give your precious manuscript to someone for consideration and they brush it off? Or when someone smirks because you haven't published anything in a hot minute "but you still call yourself a writer"? 

Fucking sucks.

But at the same time, it's what my soul is called to. It's this hole in my chest yearning to create, even when creation is a fickle and fleeting thing. It's staring at the blinking cursor on my screen, picturing the scene perfectly and not finding one. damn. suitable. word. to describe it. 

So no, Susan, I don't want to tell you what I'm working on. Not even a little bit. But we can talk about puppies instead.

I didn't choose the caffeine-addled life of a frustrated writer, the caffeine-addled life of a frustrated writer chose me. Now bring me a damn coffee. Please and thank you.

Extraordinary, Intentional Love

I got married a few months ago, and I still very much like my husband and he still very much likes me.

While that shouldn't necessarily be a huge accomplishment less than six months in (though for some people, maybe it is!), I am acutely aware of how quickly a relationship can go sour.

And I intend to avoid that this time around.

I have only been in two other serious relationships, neither of which were particularly healthy, each for its own reasons (that's a post for another day). From both of these experiences, I learned a series of lessons, painful yet worthwhile, about my strengths and weaknesses in relationship, as well as my strengths and weaknesses individually.

I also learned what I absolutely require in a relationship, and what I will and will not accept moving forward. I set standards, I set intentions, and without even looking I stumbled into the most wonderful love story, one that I never thought possible.

It's okay, go ahead and vomit. I'll wait...

You good now?

Okay cool, I'll proceed.

Yes, Hubs and I are disgustingly, nauseatingly happy. It's gross. We're sappy and affectionate. We laugh constantly. We send each other cheesy texts, flirt incessantly, and engage in obnoxious PDA. Our pun game is off the charts. We're thoughtful with one another, going out of our way for each other in order to show how much we care. We tell each other how we feel daily. We are, in short, intentional with each other.

And that's the topic of this post.

Being intentional with your partner.

Many relationships (though not all) follow a similar trajectory: In the beginning, it's fun and exciting. You are purposeful with your time together. You go on dates. You have plentiful one-on-one time full of laughter, conversation, and bonding. You crave your time together, and it seems like electricity is in the air constantly.

Then as time goes on and commitment deepens, the initial heat begins to fade as you sink into the comfort and minutiae of everyday living. Real life takes precedence over romance. Running errands often becomes a substitute for date night. Flirting gets replaced with debates over whose turn it is to pick up toilet paper or grab takeout on the way home from work.

Eventually, that real life minutiae takes over and you start to take each other for granted. You both settle into the comfort, into the assumption that your partner just is, just will be; that they will be there, that they will do this thing or that thing, that the status quo will continue no questions asked. This mentality opens you up to the risk of drifting apart, living separate lives, and losing the very thing that brought you together in the first place: the intentional fire you had for one another.

Sadly, this seems to be a socially accepted trend. The "end of the honeymoon phase" we've all heard about. Some couples go on existing in this place, content in the mundane comfort. Others find this a miserable existence and the relationship ultimately ends.

Controversial opinion: The end of the honeymoon phase is crap!

Why does the so-called honeymoon stage have to die out? Why is a relationship becoming stale and stagnant an accepted thing? That, to me, is utter garbage.

It really is as simple as this: If you're not growing, you're dying.

That's just a universal fact of life.

If you're not flourishing, you're withering.

Look at trees. Or flowers. Or the human life cycle. It all follows the same pattern.

The growth stage, followed by the decay stage.

I do not accept that relationships have to be on this same path toward inevitable decay, and I'll take a gander that you don't like it either. Hence the purpose of seeking intention within your relationship.

Pursue your partner with the same love, the same passion, the same interest that you did when you were first together. Court your spouse. Date your spouse. Continue to place value on your relationship even when you're roaming through Costco or taking the garbage out or running through the other 8,000,000,000,000 responsibilities of your daily round.

Yes, the day-to-day stuff has to happen, that's called being an adult. But there's no reason why your relationship has to suffer because of it.

I don't know about you, but I don't want mundane. I want extraordinary. Thankfully, so does Hubs.

So we have made it a priority to be intentional with each other, in order to keep our nauseating, diabetic-coma-inducing love story alive.

"But Sarah, how do you do this with 1,000 kids and full-time jobs and busy, hectic, tiresome days full of adulting?"

Well I thought you'd never ask!

With daily, consistent, intentional effort.

Another controversial opinion coming at ya: If you let the honeymoon phase die, it's because you are lazy in your relationship.

There, I said it.

If the honeymoon phase dies, it means you quit pursuing your partner. You quit prioritizing your relationship. You allowed mundane complacency to take over. You got too comfortable. And that's entirely on you.

Only you get to decide how much effort to give your partner, whether that's 100% or 15.7%.

(And if you are hovering around the 15.7% mark? You're essentially just roommates. And barely even that.)

I have been lazy in a relationship, and I have accepted laziness in a relationship, and I vowed to never do either again. And yes, sometimes life kicks your ass and you temporarily lapse in how much effort and intention you are giving your partner; that happens. And it's important to allow each other space to be human. But it is equally important to come back to center as quickly as possible, before you drift for good.

I am lucky to have found a man as committed to this as I am.

I am married to a man who is as thoughtful, as loving, and as intentional in pursuing me now as he was on our first date. And I am as crazy about him, as enamored by him, and as appreciative of my time with him now as I was in the very beginning as well.

My husband is really and truly my best friend. We tell each other everything, good and bad. We support each other's endeavors, goals, and dreams. We call out each other's bullshit (with love, of course). We are partners in life and have an absolute blast doing it, even on the shitty days when everything goes wrong and life just fucking sucks; yes, even then we've got each other's backs. We lift each other up, and we root each other on.

I'm literally living a Hallmark card 80's power ballad sappy romcom kind of life.

And here's how...

Hubs and I go on weekly dates, sometimes to a fancy restaurant, sometimes to MOD pizza. We go on monthly adventures, from weekends in fancy artsy hotels, to hikes, to concerts, to random Airbnb's in a neighboring county where we explore a new town for a few days. We go away on trips as often as our schedule (and responsible financial management) allow, whether across the state, across the country, or out of the country altogether. We regularly plan time together without kids, without stress, and without distractions in order to reconnect.

And our in-between time (you know, the time spent actually adulting), we slow-dance in the kitchen while I'm cooking whatever latest meal I found on Pinterest. We snuggle on the couch and watch a comedy special or a documentary or a movie. We snuggle in bed at the end of each day and talk about whatever is on our minds. We go on walks on the trail by our house as frequently as possible (and as frequently as I'm willing to tolerate walking in the stupid winter rain, let's be honest). We are purposeful with one another, intentional with how we express our love, and consistent with making each other our priority.

Because life is hard enough as it is. But it's utterly miserable if your relationship sucks.

There's no place for mundane. I expect extraordinary.

And I hope you do too.

Grad School is for Suckers...

Yeah, I said it!

Okay, I'm kidding.

Kinda.

Ish.

Except that I am that sucker. That sucker is me.

"Get your master's", they said. "It'll be fun", they said.

*facepalm*

Although, to be fair, no one actually used the word "fun". So there's that.

When I first began my bachelor's program, I never really saw myself pursuing higher education further than that. After all, I was already doing four extra years of schooling, why on earth would I want to do more than that?!?

However, as I progressed through my program, it quickly became apparent to me that in this day and age, a bachelor's degree is essentially a dime a dozen. It no longer sets you apart from the crowd. In fact, it's usually a prerequisite for any decent entry-level job. In order to even be considered for anything above and beyond that, a master's degree is oftentimes preferred, if not required (unless, of course, you are graduating college with 20 years of work experience already under your belt... which I was not).

Le sigh.

So, after doing a bunch of research and considering what I wanted to be when I grow up (don't ask me, I'm still figuring it out), I enrolled in a graduate program. Initially, I was accepted into an MBA program, because my postsecondary degree is in business management, so an MBA seemed like the next logical step, yes?

Turns out, no!

Upon further research, I discovered that MBAs were also now a dime and dozen; they are basically as common as a bachelor's degree and virtually useless (they're also essentially an accounting degree with a touch of management, and I hate math).

*big ol' fat fucking face palm*

Cue a montage of me frantically doing more research and figuring out what to do....

I needed a program that was marketable, that provided current, in-demand skills and knowledge, and that wouldn't make me go insane with so much math, aaannnnddddd....

I finally landed where I am now. Master of Science in Managerial Leadership with an emphasis on the nonprofit sector. Whew!

Still a bit of accounting, but a tolerable amount.

And I will confess, part of what led me to select this program is that it had the inklings of a liberal arts degree. You know, where there's no real wrong answer and there's a lot of room for interpretation, creativity, and problem-solving?

Yeah... not so much.

These classes are freaking hard, man. And for someone for whom school has always been pretty easy (when I apply myself, lol, aw senior year of high school, that's my bad...), this strugglebus status came as a bit of a shock to the system.

The first few quarters were fairly easy peasy. But this last quarter? Kicked my ass. I was essentially on official hermit lockdown. And quite frankly, it's not looking like this quarter is shaping up to be any better. The course content is somewhat dry and very challenging. And to top it off, my dumb ass scheduled two vacations within the first three weeks of the quarter.

*seriously the biggest facepalm known to mankind*

I have spent this week finishing two week's worth of schoolwork, because I will be out of the country next week. Then, the week after we're back, I have a paper due when we will be out of town on a family trip.

Because of course.

Because why not?

Because I'm an idiot who likes to bite off more than I can chew on an all-too-regular basis.

*self-five*

However, as with personal growth, I believe education is the greatest gift you can give yourself. Pushing yourself to do better, to be better, to always keep learning; that to me is of vital importance.

It's certainly not easy. Particularly as a card-carrying member of "The Grownups" with a spouse and kids and work and errands and life.

But stagnation and ignorance are not something I am willing to accept for myself.

So while some people will be happily watching the latest iteration of Keeping up with the Real Housewives of America's Got Talent; Top Chef Shark Tank Edition, I'll be over here reading Alexis De Tocqueville and debating the strengths and weaknesses of eleemosynary organizations with respect to the current economic and political climate from both the national and global perspective...

Send wine.

Requisite Resolutions Post

So I haven't posted in awhile. I don't know about you, but the holidays were pretty crazy for me. On top of that, I was enrolled in the hardest quarter I've had thus far in my master's program, and yeah. Very little time for blogging. Or sanity.

But I'm back!!! So let's dive in, shall we?

In case you somehow missed the memo, one week ago we entered into a new month, new year, and new decade simultaneously. Parties were had to commemorate. Massive resolutions were made. Declarations were screeched from all corners of social media of this being the best year and the best decade and best everything ever.

I.... rang in the New Year snuggled up on my couch with my hubby, watching documentaries and drinking seltzer water. I know, pretty wild, eh? I'd been sick since Christmas, and had zero interest in leaving the house.

(Hell, we're seven days into the New Year and I STILL have zero interest in leaving the house! The holidays were far too people-y for me, and my introvert brain is still recovering. But I digress...)

This year, I avoided making any sort of New Year's resolution announcement. In fact, I pretty much avoided making any sort of official New Year's resolution at all. Not because I'm all hipster and against it, but rather because I don't see why we have to wait until a new year to decide to make changes or improvements.

As previously mentioned, I have been on a personal growth journey for awhile now, and 2020 isn't going to be any different. Successful personal growth takes time. It is a lot of hard work, baby steps, consistent progress toward your ultimate goal. Some days you leap forward in your progress; other days you might slide backwards slightly. It is never something that is simple, linear, or complacent. And, quite frankly, it's not something that can really be summed up in a simple resolution.

At least, not for me.

I entered 2019 a little worse for wear. I had dealt with some absolutely craptastic garbage in the final quarter of 2018, and quite honestly, I'd had enough. I had already been pursuing personal growth in the year or two prior to this (a pursuit which, ironically, led to some of the crappy nonsense I experienced), and it became clear I needed to really double down on the process. I needed to cut out all the toxicity in my life, both in terms of people and mindsets. I needed to address some hurts, traumas, and baggage I was still carrying, and set it all down once and for all. And I needed to figure out what exactly I wanted for my life, and then commit to getting myself there.

For the most part, 2019 was a success in that manner. It was a hard year, for sure. A lot of life challenges popped up. A lot of stress. A lot of external situations that forced me to really examine where I was on my journey and make course corrections as needed.

But 2019 was also an amazing year. It was a year of finally having the cojones to pursue my dreams. It was a year of getting to know my true, authentic self in a way I hadn't in ages, if ever. It was a year of ending patterns that were no longer serving me, of facing and healing deep wounds, and finally reaching a place of self-assurance I had never experienced. It was a year of adventure, laughter, true love, and genuine happiness. It was the year I stopped being distracted and finally started living.

It wasn't easy. It wasn't perfect. But it was pretty damn incredible.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I will be taking into 2020. That same determination, that drive to continue improving, continue growing, continue being a better version of myself. No new resolution to lose 20 pounds or climb Mt. Everest or swim with manatees (although manatees are truly the best and I would absolutely swim with them!).

Instead, I resolve to maintain this journey. Because it's hard, but damn if it isn't well worth all the work. Because the life I'm living now? Nothing, I repeat, nothing like the life I was living a couple of years ago. And I could not be more thankful for that.

And, okay, if you really need me to make an "official" resolution... I guess I'll get a new tattoo. Twist my arm. You're welcome.