Just when you think your life is safe to start living, reality comes and punches you in the face. Isn't that the way it always is?
I recently watched an episode of "Boston Legal" where Allen Shore was afraid of Bobo the blow-up Clown. For those of you unaware of who or what Bobo is, let me give you a description. He is a blow-up clown with a weight in the bottom. When someone hits him, he reels back falling to the ground, but always pops back up with a cheesy grin on his face.
I have been on both sides of Bobo, feeling I was like him and now feeling the world and life's trials are like Bobo. I know everyone faces difficulties, but lately it's like whatever I do, how ever hard I hit the world in the face and knock my problems down, it pops back up with that stupid grin, mocking me and saying, 'here's something else.'
Then there are the many years, I have felt like Bobo, getting knocked down, but then popping back up. I consider myself to have a thick skin, but even thick skinned people can wear thin. It's not that the publishing world has been cruel to me. Quite the opposite. I know rejection will happen there. I accept it as part of the job. It's family I'm not sure I can recover from very much longer.
Yesterday, my husband walked through the house griping about all the stuff he was having to do with this new business he is trying to start. I told him I knew what he meant because it was tough my trying to keep all the balls in the air with my writing business. He said, "yeah, we all know and if we waited for you to become a success in your business, we'd all starve."
That's the kind of attitude I've lived with for the past 15 years. He expected me to make a million dollars those first five years and when the six and seventh came along, then eleven and twelfth and I was only up to thousands, he wasn't interested in what I did anymore. As a matter of fact, I believe he has done things to purposely sabatoge my career.
These days to keep him from griping and saying crude remarks, I sneak around and write. I get up at 3 in the morning, wait until he goes to bed, or when he is gone. It's not a perfect life, but rarely is life perfect.
Sometimes I wonder how much longer I can keep bouncing back or how much longer life will keep popping back up laughing at me. And somehow, somehow, I always come back to my keyboard, ready to go, with a renewed sense of purpose, willing to try again, no matter what gets hurled my way.
What about you? Are you willing to keep popping back up, no matter what?
Going to get more consistent here. I promise.
Until Next Time, Keep Writing~