These are still relatively new surroundings. The space is larger, configured differently, closer to the dayjob, and packed with amenities which in my mind justify the higher rent. And yet I find myself wondering if I’m actually in the same place I was last year.
I’m more stable mentally, but still given to the occasional outburst or bout of unintended drama. I keep telling myself it’s a human thing, we all have bad days, I shouldn’t worry so much. But there’s still the fear I can’t quite shake and am not always able to face.
For over a year the dayjob’s been good to me. I’ve tried to be good right back at it. The fact that I’m still employed there indicates to me that I’ve mostly been successful in that regard. Yet I know that this is a precarious world and anything could happen, so I won’t take it for granted.
I’ve published one novella. I want to write and publish more. I struggle with my own energy levels and various excuses in order to make more time to do it. I haven’t been as successful as I’d like there, much like I wasn’t a year ago, and I need to change that.
There are a lot of people out there who are interested in me and what I do, who care about my well-being, and who I never want to let down. The fact that I know I will sooner or later bothers me, but I try not to let it define my daily life. I try to focus on the determination to not do that deliberately and just do the best I can with what’s in front of me. Sometimes I get it right. Others, I try to make it right.
This is coming across as awfully dire. I should be celebrating, shouldn’t I? I survived another year. I’m alive, healthy, in control of my faculties, and still reasonably attractive and talented. I can make the oncoming year better than the last.
But if I didn’t pause and reflect, I might delude myself into thinking I already have. Instead, I see I have plenty of work in front of me. Only thing for it is to roll up my sleeves and get to it.