It hit me like a freight train; this feeling that half of my life was over and I still had not accomplished even a fraction of what I’d hoped. Inadequacy plagued me constantly, exacerbated by accomplished friends from my past finding me online. Their successes made my own life feel like one big failure and I grew more despondent as each day ticked by. My husband kept asking what would make me feel better, as if traditional methods of dealing with a mid-life crisis would help: A sports car? A vacation? What?
I didn’t want any of those things. I wanted to write and have people read it. I’d been writing for myself since I first learned how in second grade. I wrote my way through disappointments; I wrote my way through loneliness; and I wrote my way through a life spent working at jobs I hated. I wrote the best business letters I could. I overdocumented files, just so I could write more. I sent much-too-lengthy emails to friends. I had so many words, but no proper place to put them.
I’d had a few articles published but instead of feeling satisfying, it felt hollow. I had no way of knowing if anyone had read them. There was no interaction with the reader. It didn’t feel any different than the writing I’d done for myself. I prayed for an opportunity to do what I loved. Please, I begged of God. Just give me a chance. I want to be able to write. I’ll do what I need to do to make it work.
One day in September, I felt especially tortured by being a person in love with words forced to be a person making a living by working with numbers. I decided to stalk my favorite author, Anne Lamott, for awhile on Salon. Maybe if I hung out where she hangs out, I could learn to write like she writes, the world would love me, and I could finally do what I’ve always wanted to do. Write. As I searched for Anne’s essays, a little blue box with an “S” in it popped up, inviting me to “make the headlines” on Open Salon.
I’m a big believer in listening to my instinct. Ever since I was 12 years old and saw a suspicious car sitting in front of our next door neighbor’s house as we left to get a pizza, then coming home to find that our house had been robbed, I’ve learned to not second guess those little nudges, those calls to action, that I get from time to time. Inspired action has always served me well.
As I explored Open Salon, my initial reaction was that I felt completely at home. I read a few posts. Wow! These are smart, funny people; people who write. The nagging-mama voice inside my head commanded, “Join NOW.” I brushed it off: I’ll do it later. Nagging-mama voice wasn’t giving up so easily: “Do it NOW!” It felt as if someone had shaken me by the shoulder. I completed the Open Salon registration, figuring that was enough for one day. It wasn’t. “Post something.” Post something? I don’t have anything to post. Besides, who would want to read it? “Post something from your old blog.” OK, OK, easy enough. I transferred a post from an old, ignored blog. It was a short piece, but it was a start.
I didn’t expect it, but then something magical happened. Within 4 minutes, I had 3 ratings and 3 comments. Oh my gosh, people are actually reading this! They’re reading my writing! LT Bohica left the first comment, followed bybuckeyedoc, Julie Delio, Liz Emrich, and lpsrocks. I don’t know if they were assigned to be a welcome wagon for clueless newbies like myself, or if my first post just happened to hit the feed at a lucky time, but I will always be especially grateful to them for their comments. They gave me the encouragement that I needed but hadn’t been able to find.
The very next day, an old boyfriend looked me up on Facebook, causing me just enough angst to write my second blog entry. The Universe must have been waiting for me to finally get it together and write because everything seemed to line up perfectly. This piece received an Editor’s Pick and a spot on the cover which lead to even more readers and comments. Now I was hopelessly hooked. I’d found a place where I could write and people would actually read it. Nothing could make me happier.
People on Open Salon always say that they don’t care about the Editor’s Picks or being on the cover; they write for themselves. Not me! I was ecstatic to see that first Editor’s Pick and subsequent ones still give me an enormous thrill. I’d spent my entire life writing for myself and I’m extremely grateful for the chance to now write for an audience. Every rating and every comment means that maybe, just maybe, I’ve made a connection with someone.
So here I am, three months later, shamelessly addicted to Open Salon. I steal peeks at it during the day when I should be working, the house has more dustbunnies than I should probably admit, the laundry piles are taller than my third-born, and I’ve given up an obscene amount of sleep. In exchange, though, I’ve read stories that have broken my heart and stories that have made me think in new ways. I’ve seen photos so beautiful that they’ve made me long for photography lessons. I’ve seen art so inspiring that I’ve felt my mood change simply by viewing it. I’ve met many witty, warm, intelligent people who’ve made me cry, and others who’ve made me laugh until my coffee came out my nose. Open Salon has become my community, my recreation, and my passion. It’s made me feel better about myself by giving me a place to do what I love. I don’t need a sports car or a young lover or an exotic vacation because Open Salon has cured my mid-life crisis.
Now can anything be done about this middle-aged spread?
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Comments
Maybe that's your next post?
Umbrella - Yeah, it's a pretty sweet playground here. Thank you :)
Speak for yourself. I still need a vacation, and I wouldn't turn away the sportscar either. ;)
Seriously, don't be hard on yourself about what you haven't accomplished. I figure I spent the first third of my life growing up, the second third raising my children, and now this last third (assuming I live to 75 or so) is about my contributions to the world. It's amazing how much easier that becomes without a house full of kids. If OS gives you confidence and valuable feedback, so much the better!
Yes, know exactly what you mean. readers. intelligent readers.
Lonnie, O'Kathryn and I discussed this when we met for lunch. Of how we would force our writing on those in our lives and they would hand it back and say:
"That's nice."
Re the middle-aged spread, months ago someone on here showed a rig they have where they can prop their laptop on the top of their treadmill. You might want to search for that. :)
J.
I understand completely.
As for the middle aged spread: who needs boyish hips when you are over 30. A little back looks especially sensual when it fills out a dress.
"Who's Joan Walsh?"
O'Steph - Ugh - yes! The dreaded "that's nice." I think that's why I tend to feel that people in my real life don't quite "get" me. Writing is a huge part of who I am.
Julie - I would love to be able to share a cup of coffee and a good long chat with you. I'm going to go look up what state you're in. I know the treadmill post! It was Jodi's. Now all I've got to do is clear mine off and I'm in business. Meh. I'll think about that on Thursday.
O'Kathryn - OS is a cure for many ills, I've learned.
Warriorsaint - Anne fans unite! I hear you a little "back" filling out a dress, but I'm living for a time when a little "front" is sexy. Until then, I'd better dust off the old treadmill.
Jimmy - I like your analogy about people looking at us as if we've handed them a pair of socks. That's what it feels like. At least here, we can all ooh and ahh over each other's "socks" because we understand. Shh - don't tell, but I'd be over the moon if Joan were to comment - or even rate - on one of my pieces. She's one of my heroes. So far, nothing, though. :(
We all want to be editor's picks, otherwise we'd write in little diaries and lock them up!
Great post!
JoanK - At least it was a cheap fix! Thank you for your kind comment.
Leeandra - I agree. If we didn't want to be read, we'd still be hiding that diary under our beds. Thank you for stopping by.
Verbal - Indeed! The very best kind of drug. No black box warnings needed.
Jimmy, that's funny about your wife. But tell her the squirrel's MOM knows who I am, and can also take me, according to the squirrel, anyway.
Emma - It doesn't take long, does it?
Joan - OH MY GOSH. It's really you! Joan Walsh reads my stuff! Excuse the teenybopper reaction, but you've made my day. Thank you for leaving a comment! (Don't tell the squirrel, but my bets are on you being able to take his mom.)
Jess - I like that image of having coffee with all of you. It's a special place indeed.
You write extremely well and with clear honesty that is very refreshing. You are an important and positive influence on me, and, now that I know that you and your soulmate share an anniversary date with my birthday anniversary, what's not to like?
Blessings, lady, you get them and give them every day.
Monte
That woman loves to read and has little time for it. So, with luck we'll be out of here by the time they come to kick us out at 11 am. We plan on taking a day and a half getting back anyway, so it doesn't matter all that much. We have had a good time, quiet, reading, watching some TV, more reading and Sue walking on the beach a lot.
The wi fi here isn't working but I am able to log into the feed from a place down the block. It is a slow weak connection that sometimes times out, but it does work, mostly.
The oceanfront efficiency turned out to be good and I have spent some time on the balcony just watching the ocean and listening to the surf.
Monte
Is it something about March 28th? We share a birthday. And I have spoken, written, those self same words multiple times. A voice, I craved a voice. Things held within bubbling to get out.
I came late to writing. Words, phrases, poetry, music, lyrics, rattling through my head while driving to or from, and never written down. Lost and unrecoverable a day or a week later.
And then the computer broke and my daughter went off to college. I fixed the circuit board and replaced the power supply, resoldered a few things, bought and install some more memory, cleaned out the fan and cooling fins, and it worked just fine again. Drat! Nope, clogged with spyware, programs, and PORNO?. My daughter? Okay well, she is of age,, and I began to learn about programs and cut and paste, and began learning to type.
Think about that one. Business was just bids, proposals, billings, dust dry stuff accomplished with two fingers. And I began to write.
I still only write down a small portion of what rattles through what passes (at times) for my brain, but the really good ones, where BOTH neurons, or maybe my total male allotment of THREE neurons focus. Ah! Wonderful time spent! So completely lost that something comes out sometimes on a first draft. Surprise at where the last two hours have gone.
And then a friend tells me of his news list of Slate, Salon, Drudge, and like you, one reaches out and grabs me, Open Salon.
A bit long on the comment, I apologize, but the experience, the parallels were just not ignorable.
Dean
hyblaean - I adore you. You always seem to know the perfect thing to say, just when a person needs to here it. INFJs unite! Thank you very much for your kind words.