Have I Left This Too Late?

In the midst of the coronavirus outbreak and the advice to practise social distancing, I have found myself asking a question of myself. It’s a question I ask myself often, usually when one job or another has gone completely tits up.

Why the hell didn’t I get into writing sooner?

Think about it. Wouldn’t it be great if it were the norm to work from home? Wouldn’t it be great if it were even possible for many of us?

I often berate myself for not trying to get a jump on this lifestyle much earlier in life, (before I had a family and responsibilities) but here we are. Yes, I wish I’d knocked down all my self-made barriers sooner, but I didn’t, so I’ll just have to do it now.

I’m sharing this particular rambling partly in the hope that it will be seen by someone who is basically me as a teenager or a young adult, because if I can save someone-anyone- a whole load of regret, then it will have been time well spent. I also want to reach out to people like me who are wondering if it is, in fact, too late for them.

So, what was stopping me from acting on my dream in the past?

There are a couple of factors, besides my constant questioning of my own abilities, that have come into play here. Annoyingly, the most prominent one I can think of is something that I should never have allowed to hinder me; something that a truly determined person would never consider. It was the lack of encouragement, from those closest to me. In truth, I have felt actively discouraged by some people at times.

I should mention that there was definitely no malice intended in this, but very few people consider writing a real job. Sure, when I was nine and my teacher told me that I wrote great stories and should be an author when I grew up, my family was proud. But it turns out, as you get older, they start to show some concerns about how unrealistic your plans are. The nature of writing as an often unreliable source of income makes people say things like: “That’s great, but you need to look at other careers too. It’s hard to make a living from that.” Read as: “You definitely won’t make a living from that.”

So, my writing got boxed into the “hobby” category and I went off in search of something secure/reliable/stable. But it had to be something that matched the level of my intellect. Something that would make me look successful. Otherwise, I’d feel like a complete failure. This is where the next barrier to my writing career comes in.

I found said stable career, but ended up so tired and drained and stressed from it that I didn’t even feel like putting pen to paper. My mind and soul were so depleted that I had no imagination left. I remember giving up on the idea of ever being able to write fiction again. I thought that was it; that my imagination and creativity had left me forever. I simply didn’t have it in me anymore.

Happily, my lack of imagination turned out to be circumstantial; a symptom of a mind that never switched off and a life devoid of peace. My career choice had left no room in my mind for creating anything.

I don’t have a career now, truth be told. I have a job to pay the bills, but not a career. It doesn’t linger in my mind all day and night and it doesn’t make me ill. Now, I have the headspace for my son and for my writing. It feels great, but I still have a lot of hard work ahead to achieve my dream. There’s also a bit of a battle to make it a priority. Occasionally, I still get the active discouragement from others, this time in the form of reminders of other things I “should” be doing. Jobs around the house is one, but sometimes I have to let those go for a bit. My writing has been on the back burner my whole damn life, so it’s time it took priority. The other is spending time with my little boy which, granted, is very important. Look, of all the plates I’m spinning, the one with my son on it is not going to be the one I let go. That one takes precedence at all times, but a few hours a week, my husband is more than capable of keeping that particular plate spinning unaided.

There will be times, like now, as other countries in Europe go into lockdown and the UK may well follow suit, when I curse myself for not doing all this sooner; for not being established by now. But the sooner I get this ball rolling, the shorter the term of my regret will be. When I ask myself whether I have left this too late, I tell myself the same thing I’d tell anyone else who was wondering whether they’d missed the boat for trying something new. It’s never too late until you’re dead.

So, here’s the thing: whatever age you are, whatever dream you have, for fuck’s sake, just chase it. Not next week, next month, next year. DO IT NOW. You don’t need anyone else’s encouragement because, when you achieve those goals, you’ll show everyone. But, best of all, you’re going to show yourself what you can do.

V.