I Am a Writer. Repeat. I Am a Writer. Repeat . . .

Getting organized, and staying organized, are probably the greatest challenges of my life.

I do not seem to know how to organize even my desk, let alone myself. I manage to keep our over-crowded home (we didn’t downsize enough when we moved here in the summer and we are struggling to do so now) in fairly good order–with Jonathan’s help–but my study is simply chaotic (see picture).

Some of this is due to my still trying to figure out how to live my new life as a writer. This is the first time in almost 50 years of working that I have worked for myself by myself. Perhaps this is part of finally growing up!

Maybe also I am having trouble accepting my newfound call to write, still doubting that I have the capacity to pull it off. I know I carry around some sense yet that I am a fraud, that I don’t really know how to write, that if I really pour myself into this I will stumble and fall.

Of course, I have more to learn about my new profession–it would be sad if I thought otherwise, even had I been writing all my life–and yes I may stumble and fall. But I have done that before and have always picked myself up, with God’s help and my friends and family. I can do that again.

But a fraud? How can I be a fraud when the call on my soul is so clear? It would not be the first time I doubt God, but if the past is any indication that is a losing proposition! If there is one thing I have learned it is that trusting God is the way forward in life.

Of course, that does not mean I cannot or should not argue with God. I agree with those interpreters of the Book of Job who say that the reason God rewards Job and chastises his friends is because Job cared enough, believed enough, to argue with God while they counseled him to simply give in.

blogs.thegospelcoalition.org

But I don’t feel like arguing with God. I think, I believe, God is right. Or to put it even more clearly, I believe God (something that is far more vital than simply believing in God, good though that is).

And I believe, I feel certain, that I heard God correctly through the voice of the trees in Yosemite a year ago (see “And The Writing Keeps Crying Out”). My call feels genuine and powerful.

So, to get back to organization. A writer needs a good space for writing. I need a good space for writing.

Today, I will do some sorting and sifting and concentrate on how to begin to make this space work for me. No more being overwhelmed by chaos. I will at least begin to tame it.

Stay tuned for progress reports. And feel free to share tips and ideas you have for conquering the Disorganizing Syndrome.

Getting Started

Settling into a new home is not easy, perhaps especially upon discovering that the downsizing you did is not enough–and when your husband’s office furniture needs to take up home space until he has office space.

Still, this process has its rewards. For one thing, I realize that formerly relatively unimportant things now are much more vital, even building new relationships with old things. Some plastic storage containers are assuming centrality in a smaller kitchen where before they were tucked away out of sight. Figuring out what to do with the mountains of cans of green beans (our dog, Cocoa, eats 3-4 cans each day) with much less storage space requires ingenuity. Right now, in hot weather, we are keeping quite a few in the refrigerator, thinking maybe he likes them cold.

And then there is the yard. We had .4 acres before. Now, I doubt we have .1. Still, it feels like enough. And it is beautiful, in a wild, sort-of-overgrown way. The previous owner 

spent almost 20 years loading up the space, mostly with foliage plants and trees and rock-filled areas and walkways. I will be clearing some of that  to introduce more flowers. But this will be a challenge, due to heavy shade in much of the area. The trees are beautiful, and the shade is welcome in hot weather, but I want more flowers, both perennial and annual.

My study is smaller, too, and still pretty congested, but slowly I am making a way for myself. The rocking chair and candles and other related items are more or less set up for morning (and other times) meditation. Most books are somewhat organized–meaning with some searching I can find the volume I seek.

We are functional in all areas of the house now, although there is much to be done, including hanging family photographs and art. I tried to drive a small nail in a kitchen wall to hang a calendar, only to realize that these Depression-era plaster walls are for real–no driving nails in them! [More later about the co-op community in which we live.]

The bottom line is that I no longer have any excuse to avoid writing. My husband Jonathan came here to develop a new therapy practice and to expand his network of psychoanalytic and group therapy colleagues. He is doing that very well.

I came here to write. It is time to get started!