On Retirement and Finding My "Why"

courtesy of Simon Sinek

"Why do you do what you do? It’s not an easy question, but the answer could make a big difference in your life."

Sometime around 2018 I started to notice that I had been coasting on autopilot in my life. Maybe it was because my youngest was graduating and leaving for school across the country, and I had more time to think, but it was a sobering realization. I finally had the time and freedom to do whatever the fuck I wanted, but didn't know exactly what that was, or if I did know, wasn't taking the steps to get what I wanted. The one area of my life that took the biggest hit was writing (and all of my literary endeavours). I remember thinking, "who cares?" and "what's the point?" and I began to hate everything I had created and resent the people who were reaching out to me about their writing, wanting to do readings, etc. AND I HATED MY COLLEAGUES AT MY 9-5, which I couldn't do anything about because I was paying tuition for one kid and subsidizing rent for another.

So to summarize, I was very unhappy and had too much time to think about that unhappiness but I was stuck in a situation of my own making because I had dependents, which meant that chasing a dream (even if I had lost sight of that dream) wasn't possible because I had to do practical things.

Then in the summer of 2019, my literary org was turning ten and I planned what I thought was a fun celebration...that no one wanted to attend. I took a step back and thought, "all these people that I've helped, or published, or given a stage to, or collaborated with, and maybe five ride-or-die folks wanted to celebrate that with me. Enough was enough. I decided to retire and disappear from the literary scene in NYC. I refused all invites to talks and readings and workshops, stopped editing manuscripts, and abandoned my own work. I even handed over the reins to La Pluma y La Tinta to someone else.

That fall, a bunch of shit started to happen, like a snowball rolling down a hill, that forced me into therapy. And every session was just me crying because I felt weak and lost and really, what was I even doing with this life anymore?

It's been a lot. And my therapist concluded the obvious: I do for everyone else, and hardly ever for me. 

Where does that leave me now? Slightly un-retired. I'm reading again. I've even started listening to audiobooks. Ideas for stories have popped in my head. A tiny vision of where I want to focus my energies emerged. Now, I'm not saying therapy did all that, but it didn't NOT do all that, either.

I'm working on my why. I think I'm meant to use my storytelling abilities to persuade you mongrels to stop being assholes to the planet and each other. That's what really matters to me. This reboot is a part of that work.

Lake Como, my heart

But if in pursuit of de-mongrelizing you I happen to become a best-selling author who splits her time between a three-bedroom condo in Riverdale, a refurbished farmhouse on the right good side (read: the side that doesn't touch NJ) of the Hudson River Valley, and a vineyard in Italy, too, you know, I wouldn't be mad at that.

Love & Balls,

Jaded

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it seems like I'm always against me

seems like this is never ending

and I refuse to let it end me

mentally, spiritually, physically

i need my peace