I have often heard that a writer's life is very solitary and lonely. These past few months, I have felt a bit solitary and lonely but it has nothing to do with being a writer.
It has to do with being unemployed and not having anywhere to go every day.
When I was laid-off in November, so many people told me that NOW was the time to do things I wouldn't normally get to do. Your options are sorely limited, however, when you don't have money to do things with...if my name was Ivanka (nothing against Ivanka...I like Ivanka), I'd be able to take classes and travel. It's not. While I am extremely fortunate that I have a roof over my head (and I will never forget that), being unemployed is excruciatingly boring, when it's not extremely depressing and frustrating.
I have had others remind me that now I have all the time in the world to write...which is true...but at the same time, I realized that I do my best writing when I'm on the train after a long day. I write and write, then try to figure-out my handwriting and type everything-up. But, when I have no where to go every day, I have no train to take home. I'm not interacting with people all day, making random observations on the street. That's what keeps my mind running and what makes me (I think) a good writer. Lately, I've just been so incredibly bored that it's difficult for me to sit down and write.
I refuse to be bored anymore! I am promising myself that. I am researching cheap classes to take, places to volunteer at, new books to read. I am looking for at least part-time jobs (which are also pretty hard to find right now.) I am making an effort to meet-up with friends I haven't seen in a while or friends I don't know that well. Yesterday, I hung-out with my little niece and nephews...those children do not know the meaning of the word "bored"! I need to take a lesson from them.
I am a much better writer when I am busy...despite having such limited time to actually write. I wonder how many other writers are like that.
I'm sure in a few months, I'll have a new job and will be complaining that I don't have a free moment anymore. Isn't that how it always works? And when that happens, I will reread this entry.
(The same way I always promise that I'm going to remember how brutal winter is and never complain when it's 90 degrees in the city in August and everything smells like pickles.)
I'm good...it's all good.