It's funny how much I relate to writers when I am not a writer myself. I see all these people plugging away for hours on end, honing their craft and where am I?
Restricted by my rules and the things I'm afraid of.
Perhaps it's my upbringing or my desire to help others. This quote, from Writing Life by Ellen Gilchrist was fascinating to me because I don't know if I could do this:
"For many years my desire to do my work and tell my stories was so intense I would have sacrificed anything to it. I begged forgiveness of the world but I would have continued with my work whether the world agreed to let me do it or not."
I understand the overwhelming desire to write, but to ignore the needs of others? To leave people behind? I suppose if they were okay to fend for themselves...
It's so selfish to do that but I do realize even now, there have been times I've done similar things. Perhaps I've done the same to a smaller scale, and it is true that it is impossible for one to be always giving and always working and living for the benefit of others. It's not sustainable (to use the current catchword).
Now don't get me wrong; I'm no saint. I've just pointed out that I've acted selfishly before and have left people hanging, much like Gilchrist has done in the name of her work. I suppose the difference is that I've never done that to that extent in the name of work. What does that say about my attitude toward work or my attitude toward my own self-development?
I think one of the most poignant lessons that I've learned but often have forgotten is that in order to help others, I must help myself. I must be at a place to be able to help others or else I won't be able to.
With that being said, I must go back to my paper and continue to write, rewrite, and rewrite again.
