Flux

My life is changing. My schedule, my writing habits, my feelings and convictions, if not all exactly changing, are adjusting. Maybe that's a better word. This state of affairs began a few months ago. I was on a committee. Had been for a while. And I began to wonder whether I belonged there. Even more uncomfortably, I sensed others wondering the same thing. That may or may not have been the case (I tend to think it was). I contributed valuable time and effort, yet there were key areas where I didn't meet the challenges. I decided to move on and, I sincerely hope, make room for someone more able to fill the position I vacated.
I forget sometimes I'm a writer and what that means. Not writing is bad. When you give up on a novel you've worked on a long time, in part because you haven't the energy to sort out its problems, that's devastating. For me, it always comes down to that choice. Do the other, or do the writing. People who have energy for jobs, committees, families, etc., how I envy them! They're my heroes (so long as they do it all well). But that kind of energy has always eluded me.

Do I go on fighting my nature, trying to live up to others' expectations? Do I do what's right for me and those closest and dearest to me? Put it that way, and there's not much choice.

Okay, so my priorities are as straight as they're likely to get. The schedule needs work, but it's coming along. Light's growing at the end of the tunnel. Of course, knowing Life and the vicissitudes of Fortune, it's as likely to be a train headlight as a new dawn. :) On the other hand, trains are vehicles, right?