It's all about going crazy!
I think I'm crazy for taking on a night class on top of my regular insanity.
I have a crazy dream of having an English degree.
I'm crazy (and so is my boss) for working at home with a toddler underfoot.
I have a crazy dream of being published. Not articles or online, but of physically holding a copy of a book with my name on the cover.
I am crazy enough to believe that I can add writing time to the night class and the regular insanity.
I have a crazy belief that I could be a career student, if I were ever rich enough to pay for it.
I had a crazy excitement to meet someone who has completed in her life all the things I aspire to.
I will not name her, because she is still remarkable in her own way, but she scared me.
I fell in love with her excitement about the first book being published. Her joy about how many people turned out to her book launch. How it 'made the solitary work' worthwhile.
She said things that I have thought. About how some ideas just play around in your mind, back and forth, sometimes months or years. Just screaming to get put on paper. You want to think it and rethink it and polish it before you put pen to paper.
She said that's wrong. And she's right.
She talked about how writing, just writing, is very important. Once those ideas are out of your head, you can work with them. You can edit, revise, change.... whatever you need to do. And for as long as you need to.
She inspired me in minutes to keep writing. (Which I have been. Small steps, but a minimum goal of 3000 words per week on my book.)
And then.... she kept talking.
In a normal world, I'd have been rapt. I would have listened with awe to the words of someone who has been where I want to go.
But, sadly, this was my class. And not at all her purpose for being there. She was jacked on (hopefully) caffeine. Hygiene was ... weak. She bounced from topic to topic, shamelessly mentioning her new book every five or ten minutes for 2 hours.
Her speech was too fast and too off-topic. She was there to help us. To spend a few minutes one on one reviewing our current essay projects. Offer guidance or suggestions. But she didn't do any of it.
On my way home, I could only shake my head.
Is writing such a solitary profession that it makes one forget how to socialize? Is the excitement over publishing going to make me self-promote, even when it's not appropriate? Is it likely that I too will forget to shower? Will I lose the ability to read instructions because my mind is full of fiction?
I know I'm not her. Perhaps she's having a rough week, or something was just off today for her. I started out wanting to go find her book. But then she kept talking. I'm sure it's lovely, but I'm so turned off.
I guess it's good to see a negative side of my goals. Perhaps, this was a test of my spirit. A test to show me the dark side of dreams, and see if I'm brave enough to move forward.
But then again, she's just a different kind of crazy than I am.
So I should be good.
Have you ever met someone who has lived your dreams and been disappointed? Or perhaps you were fortunate that they inspired you? Have you felt tested like this?
Tell me your stories.