I keep feeling ambitious. I will be working on an artistic project that perhaps I haven’t picked up in awhile, and I will be so pleased by the fruits of my labor that I think I can turn it into some sort of business. I start to make moves toward setting up a brand on social media and then I realize that I am in over my head.
It’s too much. It’s just too much.
I am mothering a toddler (and two dogs, and a husband). I take care of the house which is generally covered in animal hair and hair dye (plus our dishwasher just broke). I am trying to have a social life and maintain some local friendships while sitting on the board of our mommy club. I am taking care of some very close friendships that are long distance. I would like to finish reading a book or two someday. And I am writing. I’m writing a novel, blogging, and attempting to generate a clump of poems and short fiction. I also have to remember to eat, move my body, and pee.
Sometimes, in my free time, I like to pick up other artistic pursuits. I’ve been creative all my life and have acquired various skills and interests along the way. Painting, equine art, crafting, photography…I actually seem to be good at all of it. It’s nice to take a brain break. It’s feels amazing to finish a project and have something tangible to gaze at. So then I start thinking that I should set myself up in some way to make money off these things.
And ain’t nobody got time for that. Especially me.
I have such little free time. We all have such little time on Earth, really. While I think it’s fine and healthy to have a lot of hobbies, they have to stay just that. If I strive to finish my novel; if i strive to be published then I have to focus. Writing is my passion. Writing is where I wish to find success. So I have to let it consume me.