Overcast today. The autumn sky had that pale indigo daylight quality that I love so much about Fall in New England. I was thinking on my commute, about the various things on my to-do list, and how it feels like the plates I’m spinning are going to come crashing down at any moment, books, publishing goals, my son’s birthday party, the coming holidays, the finances… When I parked my car, I checked Facebook while I was walking to the office, and there was one of those snarky ecards that I generally love, which read “You know you’re a writer when the barista knows your name.”
And it pulled me up short.
Without thinking, I commented, “Or, you know you’re a writer when you can’t remember the last time you went to Starbucks, because you’re too busy working a day job for a salary, freelancing in the evenings, balancing home and family, and collapsing and exhausted heap at the end of the day.” And I didn’t even bring up the writing of fiction, for which I don’t get paid until it’s all said and done and published, purchased, and 60-days-for-royalties paid out.
I felt badly, because my tone might have been perceived as sharp, and it was just a silly Facebook image. So, I went back to leave a little, “Sorry, no pre-coffee commenting for me!” comment. And lo! Apparently, I struck a nerve, because there were a bunch of likes, and I had a warm blossom of I am not alone in this.
When I got to the office, the pale indigo had given way to gunmetal clouds and gusty wind that lifted my scarf off my chest to bat at my chin, and I was buoyed by the fact that I am, in fact, not alone in this.
And neither are you.