I often refer to my real life vs. my writing life.
It’s really not a good description but it’s the best one I have for now. My real life is a three-dimensional, loud, messy combobulation of people, schedules, cleaning, cooking, laundry, work, budgets, parenting and marriage. It’s boundries are unclear and constantly changing. It requires juggling, quick thinking and the flexibility of a Russian acrobat. I love it.
I love the people in my life, who are growing, changing, learning and require constant feeding, chasing after, cleaning up behind and most importantly, unconditional loving in the midst of realistic expectations. I love my extended family, friends, patients and co-workers whose lives have intersected with mine each in a unique way. I love the tenacity I see when my kids struggle to learn a new skill, my husband works as he’s recovering from a surprise health issue, my patients adapting as they deal with an unexpected turn. Real life is messy.
In the midst of the wonderful chaos of human behavior and life experience, I try to control the whirlwind but can only really lasso a tiny piece. But if I listen beneath the noise, there lives my inner life. That’s where the core of Joanne resides, including my writer self. It’s like the processor on a computer that analyzes a large amount of what appears to be completely unrelated data and recognizes a relationship, a pattern or a common thread. In the middle of what appears random, my inner life, which includes my spiritual life, my hopes, dreams, thoughts, visions and yes, even unwritten books, chugs along. That’s where my ability to overcome obstacles lives. My ability to see a hopeful end to a difficult challenge. My sense of humor which is sometimes warped but always welcome (by me). My inner life is every bit as real as my “real life” though it is unseen. It is the framework on which my real life’s foundation is built.
So when I say I’m trying to write in the midst of my real life, I think I’m really saying, I’m searching for opportunities, ideas, threads, connections and meaning plus the time to develop those things into an idea worth pursuing. Without the influence of my real (and somewhat messy) life, my inner self would be empty–and not in a good way.
I’m striving to balance real life and writing (and all my other inner endeavours) so that I am a whole, balanced, healthy and happy person no matter what life’s circumstances or my success or failure as a published writer.
How do you balance your inner and outer self in a way that is meaningful and satisfying and how does that influence your writing?
