I’ve been feeling disconnected lately. Working long weeks at the Day Job and often getting less than five hours of sleep per night, I have been able to see myself—as if from a distance—pulling away from the more personal elements of my life, the little bits and pieces that, in the past, have made me me.
My routine when I get home from the office these days is set: kick off shoes, turn on Rachel Maddow podcast, cook dinner, check work email, follow up on work email (and associated tasks), force myself through a floor workout routine (sit-ups, push-ups, etc.), crawl into bed, stare at ceiling until sleep finally comes knocking … and this routine rarely varies. My brain won’t shut up for long hours, it seems, my focus having shifted from myself to my work, mentally tallying all that I’ve accomplished that day—and all I will need to accomplish in the days to come. I’m exhausted, yet I feel guilty for that exhaustion.
It’s not uncommon, I know, to have a life seemingly defined by one’s job. I’m young(-ish), one year into a career that will likely shape my day-to-day future for a long time to come. I should clarify that I’m thrilled with the direction that career is taking. I enjoy my work, and am challenged by it in all the best ways. It doesn’t prevent me from feeling somewhat … subsumed, however. I can sense the shifting of my priorities as I allow—yes, allow—my identity to morph into something and someone new.
I’m not sure I like it, this loss. Not all the time, anyway.
And it does feel a bit like loss to me, a sensation that hit home this weekend when I went to update the “What I’m Reading” widget on this blog and noted that I’d posted less than 10 times in the past four months. It was a shock, seeing what had once been a near-daily blog become this forlorn, neglected website. Romance & Real Life. That’s what I’d titled this blog, back in November of 2010. Romance and real life, and yet I’d somehow managed to lose not only my sense of romance, but my life, as well—the life I considered “real.”
Years ago, my heart decided it belonged to a writer. Not just a writer—a novelist. And not just a novelist, but a romance novelist. Everything I’ve done since reaching that decision (including the launch of this blog) was in pursuit of this goal, life choices both conscious and subconsciously reached. Even the choice to aggressively pursue a career that provides me with a stable income and precious benefits links back to the goal perched precariously on one of the few remaining idealistic tightropes banding around my heart. Still, that heart shook a bit to see those words—Romance and Real Life—glaring up at me from the header of this blog.
Obviously, something has to be done.
In an effort to reclaim the “me” I feel slipping away, I’m going back to my writing roots: blogging. While I can’t guarantee that the tone of Romance & Real Life will reflect the frivolity found in a majority of past postings, I do promise it will remain true to its title—a title that now carries far more weight than it did back in 2010. My real life has changed, but I believe the life I’m living now is even more relevant to the stories I want to share, and the books I need to write.
I believe that to the very depths of my heart, the heart that long ago whispered, “You’re a writer, E. You were always going to be a writer.”
So, hello, Romance & Real Life. I can’t wait for you to meet me, all over again.
