 The notion of not being enough is a menacing shadow that has cast a pall over most of my life.
When I was growing up, it went something like this: I am not smart enough. I am not pretty enough. I am not tall enough. I am not popular enough. My boobs are not big enough. My waist is not small enough. My hair is not shiny enough. No one will ever really love me because I am just not enough. In my early adult life, when I became a single mom, I was still plagued by many of the denunciations above, but add to that: I am not giving my son enough love, attention, discipline, material things, etc. And above all, I am not a good enough mom. Later, when a thundering moment of clarity demonstrated that I could no longer drink like a normal person, and my world summarily crashed around my ears, my inner voice screamed, “You are not strong enough!” All of this, as it turned out, was bullshit.
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 Well people, the sun has risen over a new year, and it’s casting an exceptionally bright beam on my little corner of the world.
I have to say that 2014 was really, really good to me. So good in the work department, in fact, that I haven’t had the time or inclination to blog much in recent months. What a propitious problem to have. Personally, life is damn dandy, too. First, my 19-year-old son moved out on his own in October. I’ve enjoyed watching him acclimate to his newfound independence, make some valuable mistakes and develop crucial life skills. I’m so proud of his tenacity and work ethic.  Last week was the first one in the two years since I started my little ol’ website that I didn’t write a blog post.
It had to happen, and here’s why. It was a hectic Monday morning. I had been sick for the prior 10 days, and I was way behind on more than a few projects. I was scrambling to get organized, return some calls and tie up some loose ends that had gotten badly frayed the week before. I was a hot mess. My brain was still hazy, so coming up with a viable blog topic became a futile pursuit. The only things I could think of to say involved a litany of complaints of how shitty I felt. And lemme tell you what, feeding the self-pity monster is never good for my mental state. By about 2 p.m. on Monday afternoon, after hours of worrying over not having a single word on the page, a radical thought occurred to me: “What if — just what IF — you skip a week, Amy?” And so I did.  There’s a relatively new aphorism circulating the interwebs lately that has gotten my attention. It says, simply, “Stop the glorification of busy.” After doing some cursory research, I gleaned that it was lifted from the headline of a blog written in reaction to a book published earlier this year by Arianna Huffington.
Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass where it came from, I only care that it perfectly captures my philosophy about work. Reflecting on the current state of my career is especially apropos because this week marks the second anniversary of my decision to start my own freelance writing and media consulting business. I didn’t quit my full-time job until about six months later, but that pivotal decision in September 2012 is the one that really set the wheels in motion for the career I have today. There were a lot of reasons I decided to venture out on my own — the potential to make more money, the freedom to choose who I work with and when, not being beholden to any one person or entity ... aka The Man — but the main reason was I wanted have a good life, not just a good job. See, I have always, always worked to live and not the other way around. Today, I love what I do, but it’s just work. I do it so that I can maintain a home and a lifestyle that make me happy. The work itself is not the source of my happiness. Never has been.  I love writing this little blog. I do. It’s a safe forum that allows me to speak my truth. I can share my hopes, dreams and successes; failures, frustrations and fuckups; and random, silly anecdotes about my first-world life.
I am not ashamed of anything I’ve said or done in my lifetime, so there’s no ego involved when I write. I have made peace with all my decisions, and I have no regrets. I’ve been schooled on some amazing lessons I couldn’t have learned without wading through a lot of shit. I hope that sharing some of those lessons will keep others from making the same mistakes. Thanks to 12-step recovery, I’ve also learned that other people’s shit does not stick to me. If people I love make bad choices, that’s on them. I’m not going to waste time agonizing over those choices or being humiliated on their behalf. But, because this blog is public and attached to my professional website, I hesitate to go too far off the chain with intimate details. I’m reticent to post anything too raw or controversial because I don’t want to alienate my clients, family or friends.  I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I work out four to five times a week. I regularly care for my mental, spiritual and emotional health. I go to bed right after Jimmy Fallon’s monologue every night and get plenty of sleep.
I am boring as hell. The only vices I have left are caffeine and sugar. I love good coffee and milk chocolate. Sometimes together. Up until recently, I had no reason or desire to give either one up. Then I had the brilliant idea to start working with a new personal trainer. Who promptly told me I had to give up sweets — and any added sugar — for four weeks. The rat bastard. So for the past 10 days, I have taken the sugar out of my coffee (I’m keepin’ the damn coffee, though), and the candy, ice cream and cake out of my diet. He has given me some pretty strict guidelines on what I can eat and when, and I have to report in several times a day via text message. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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