Midlife Crisis?

For a number of years now, I've half-heartedly joked that I've been gearing up for a mid-life crisis. Almost as instantly as the word tumbled out of my fingers or mouth, I would quickly do some math and then reneg on the whole idea because obviously, I was then too young...not to have a crisis of faith, hope, life, etc., but to call it a mid-life one.

But in this year of 45, and looking at the lifespans of my grandparents, and their parents, barring any major complications, I'm okay with calling this mid-life.  If I can get at least this many years on the downslope...I'm okay with that.  Don't want to be greedy - as attractive as "As old as Moses" sounds (120) or even the accolade from White House may be (for 100), I can see living into that tenth decade would be pretty gratifying.

And so, now satisfied with that math...I can allow the crisis to begin.  Hold on, because I've a feeling it's gonna be a bumpy ride...

I'm Gonna Be What Now?

So something very exciting is happening, (not like, huge, ginormous life-changing exciting - well, maybe - kinda tip-o-the-iceberg thing...maybe), and I'll share it when it's all said and done.  Don't get too excited...it's super small scale in the big picture of things, but somehow there's some old proverb here about how a grain of rice to an ant is tantamount to Everest or something to that effect.  It has to do with writing (YAY!).  No, not a book...not yet.  But in order for it all to happen, as per standards of practice, my piece has to be edited.

Silent pause (much more appropriate than a southern-belle gasp, lace fan a-flutterin', back of hand slapped to forehead...you get it).

I've been an editor, both informally, and professionally (when I got to capitalize the 'E').  I get it.  Of course pieces have to be edited.  That's the way it's done.  It's extremely rare to find a piece of reading that's literally, perfect in every way.  Especially to the eyes and sensibilities of experienced and professional writers and editors.  Oh, the field day one could have with this, for instance!  But I'm relying on blogger-life license for the freedom from the constraint of literary style manuals.

But most of my writing, when submitted to publications gets pretty much laid in just as it is.  I typically give it a few rounds of editing myself before sending it anywhere, and of course, always have other eyes on it - but not necessarily those of writers/editors.  I'm fact-checking - making sure I understood things right, that I'm inviting the public to the right place, date, and time, etc.

This is the first piece I've submitted anywhere that's not in the journalistic style.  Oh, well, now that I think about it, that's not entirely true.  But that only other one that I did, was indeed, slapped up on the internet in its entirety.  That page doesn't exist anymore. They were hungry for content and collected as fast as they could.  Not exactly a recipe for success.  That's no reflection on the editor (who did not create the page) - it was a business that spread itself too thin to begin with.  But I digress.

So being the kind of piece it IS...I'm fraught with wondering what they'll do to it.  It's not that long, and what did I or didn't do?  Did I miss some punctuation?  Do people punctuate anymore?  Are they miffed at my double spacing after a period (sorry, won't let that one go - call me a dinosaur - a spaceosaur, as it were)?  The word count was constrained, so I had to really cut things down to make it fit - what could they possibly take out?  Did they not realize how much time I spent on it before (apparently not)?  Don't they know who I am (definitely not)? Don't they...

Yeah...they might.  And they probably don't.  It's just a first for me - a new set of feelings that I never wanted to deal with before.  And really, in the grand scheme of things does it change who I am?  Will it change my style?  My intent?  No.  Their job is to actually help me look good to more than say...just my mom (who's opinion I do value greatly - just making a point).  Just like I used to tell people whose work I edited.

Ah...I get it.  I really do.

Stumped

I knew this would happen.  I just knew it.  As soon I make the commitment to exercise regularly (my writing skills - please, did you think I meant something aerobic?  Well, I should do that too), I knew I'd get brain freeze.  Similar to ass freeze when I make the, typically too loud decision to start going to the gym.  My ass just gets stuck in the chair.  Typically writing.  Come to think of it, since I've made the commitment to write regularly I've been busying myself with all sorts of physical activity. Wait...what?

Somehow my wires are completely crossed.  Commit to sweat, I get words.  Commit to paragraphs, I get achy muscles.  Not that either one is a bad thing - but somehow I have to flip the switch. Like that same dagnabbit switch that turns on about 10PM, no matter how flipping tired I during the day.  The one that stays on for hours...as if my day has just begun.  Or what I think a day just beginning is supposed to feel like, per everyone else's relentless ongoing commentary about being so freaking chipper after dawn, after their alone time before the rest of the world wakes up.  Honey, that's when I'm typically turning in.  But I digress.

I think I have to blow up that silly ball.  Where is she going with this, you may wonder.  Stay with me.  A while back (longer than I care to remember) I went out and bought myself one of those fitness balls - those big ones that you can bounce on.  I realized how long I do sit in this desk chair, whether I'm doing something for one of my various volunteer gigs, one of my jobs, or just surfing the social media landscape, and thought it better if I at least did it moving.  I'm not paying to reorient the office into a standing desk scenario, so this seemed like the next best thing.

It's still in the box.  I'm not sure where the box is.  I see it in my mind's eye.  I vaguely recall its last location, but then it all goes blurry.  As soon as I buy a new one it will appear, of course.

But maybe that's just it, I have to do both simultaneously.  Then I'll have no excuses, right?  Still won't help my kitchen get clean, but at least I'll be doing good for my body and my soul.  And maybe...I'll get something moving...the train out of the station, the ship out of the port, the kids out of the schoolyard (oh, wait, that's not good - they should stay, right?)...bear with me.  The engines are revving...

2016 The Year of Change

Fa la la la - year of change, resolutions, making a difference...we've heard it all before.  I've said it before, I've kinda done it before, I've failed before.  But you've got to keep trying.  You can't stop.  I can't stop.  As much I want to.  Each December I try to convince myself that come January, I won't be among the millions making public pronouncements of eating better, getting healthy, pulling myself up by the bootstraps, etc., etc....et..cet..era.  But I can't help myself.  Though I've become more quiet in my planning - subversively setting myself up to hide my failures...or rather, my short-lived successes.

But I'm giving it another go.  How can I not?  How can I not be hopeful that this is the launching point of something wonderful?  That each day is not a new opportunity to be better than the day before (regardless of how it winds up...but especially if it winds up a crappy one)? I'm not quite ready to throw in that towel.

So here's my commitment - we'll start small...or rather...focused...so as to make things achievable - just as I so often advise many who come to me with all sorts of inquiries.  I guess that's part one.

Part two is that I will write more.  I will write often.  I won't necessarily write dissertations - but I will exercise this skill that quite a few folks have reminded me I have.  And hopefully, it will help make it better.  And also...that you will enjoy it.  And read it.  And become a part of Magzland.

More soon...pinky swear.