Today begins in earnest, my quest to escape the commuter force and find a way to work at home. After decades of dreaming, I have finally decided to change direction. Now comes the hard part (for me). I must choose a path.
There are so many ways to become independent. I regularly read up on as many as I can find, as often as possible, yet identifying a clear path toward that quest has eluded me. Why? Why does it seem there are so many others that made their escape, but here I sit with the sense of foreboding about Monday's butt-numbing drive across DFW. At the other end of that drive, a soul-crushing work load that will never allow me a sense of completion, let alone even the tiniest taste of fulfillment. So I must make the move. I am of an age where new jobs aren't easy to come by. Forget what labor laws say about age discrimination. Trust me, it does exist, and it is especially tough for women.
I am tempted to try many different paths to becoming independent. Books and articles, pins and posts abound - so many that I become paralyzed by indecision. Indecision is underscored by the understanding that making any of it work takes a high degree of single-minded dedication and focus - not compatible with my usual Tiggering around from project to project. I can overcome it, though.
I envy people who know their path early on in life. My son-in-law seems to be one of those. He knew he wanted to be a pilot from the age of 6 and, according to his mother, he was always laser-focused on reaching that goal. Despite obstacles that should have derailed him, his determination never wavered Even after becoming a commercial pilot at an unusually early age (compared to a typical pilot career path), he continued seeking ways that took it to the next level.
He's a been a good son-in-law so far, I'd say. In fact, he is the perfect counterweight for my lovely daughter, who is too much like me. I digress. Again.
He's a been a good son-in-law so far, I'd say. In fact, he is the perfect counterweight for my lovely daughter, who is too much like me. I digress. Again.
So anyway, here I sit on a sunny Saturday morning, with the grass in need of mowing, garden in need of weeding, laundry in need of folding, and a dozen other chores vying for my attention.
But I write.
I love to write. Writing what you just read made me happy. The act of it felt productive: like laying down letters to form words, words to form paragraphs, and paragraphs placed as building blocks in an architectural expression of myself.
Hey, maybe I'm onto something!
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