I wrote once before about fitting writing in to my life. I’ve been thinking about it again lately, because that is what I do – I fit in time to write around other things. If it doesn’t fit, I drop it. (And if you are growing tired of my waffling about this, two things: 1) welcome to the Jellyman’s world. I do this about every decision I make. No lie. 2) Please feel free to skip what follows.)
I struggled with this a little bit, because I know that’s not how it works if one wants to be an Artist. There is a part of me that does want that – maybe not fame and fortune, but a taste, at least. And I know I can’t get there, puttering away the way I do.
I’m not struggling so much any more. I realized something else. I am most happy when I can do a little bit of everything in a day: some time with the kids, some quiet time to read or write or knit, a little time to keep things picked up, at least a couple of minutes of real conversation with my husband, working enough to feel like I’m contributing but not so much that I’m exhausted the next day.
I’m not the kind of happy that comes from eating 3 Reese’s cups (a good kind of happy, but short-lived) or the kind that comes from spending Sunday morning teaching Sunday School (a proud kind of happy, but a lot of work). I am … content.
I understand more and more, the older I get, how rare contentment actually is. I like it, though, and I intend to keep it.