There’s so much I want to write about I feel paralyzed.
People say “face your fears” as if they’re saying something wise and new. I have been writing about my fears and problems for so long I can’t take it anymore. I’m much more than a stupid disability I never knew I had until I was almost 57.
I want to make a living as a writer. I know I’m as good and interesting as many people who do. Make that better than.
I am too frigging principled. My highly evolved morals and values make even me sick though I have been told I don’t have any as 1) I’m not Christian. 2) I’m divorced. 3) I’m childless. The first person to tell me that–in a blog comment—told me that he doesn’t have to have a higher purpose as he’s a Christian married father–and that absolves him of the need to care about his fellow people.
Really? In my world–which includes many Christians with way different political views than mine–we talk the talk and walk the walk.
I don’t really want to write about any of that either. I want to write about my almost obsessive love of the word “frigging:” how when I go Manhattan I love standing on Broadway in the Upper West Side and counting the amount of “oh my god,”s I hear in ten minutes–I’m home really home when I hear that. It punctuates the conversation of my family and friends. OK it’s the Savage family crest. But it fills a measly paragraph….
I don’t know if I should put in excerpts from the memoir I’m trying to write. Not because I’m embarrassed but because in these days of everything having a lesson or being a story about ones children, spouse, or elderly parents I’m not sure people really want to hear about a former wildchild who was always good, caring and had this amazing moral compass that kept her from getting into trouble and kept her in trouble.
I can’t quantify my story into “Eight Ways To Get Over Yourself” though truthfully I am so over me.
I know I’m disappointing many people by not writing about nonverbal learning disorder (NLD) and I will keep my Psychology Today blog updated because I would be a fool to say “I used to blog for PT,” when I can say I blog for it now.
Maybe the big lesson of my life and my writing is that life happens. And if you’re very lucky you laughed your way through it and hopefully live to an old age in reasonable condition. The jury’s still out on that one for me.
I am going to be writing about moving from NY to South Carolina. From the world of coops, doormen and continual talk about school (I know I’m childless but I have a lot of friends who had children and I can tell you a lot about PS 87 to a world of stand alone homes–I the most inept person in America bought one and it’s not only still standing it looks damn good, pickups, an incredible beach four blocks (or as they say here–five minutes) from my house and some of the truly most wonderful people I have ever met.
The South Carolinian accent is arguably the most beautiful accent in America. Unfortunately you don’t hear it much here as almost everybody is from somewhere else. As opposed to New York where all my close girlfriends and many of my close male friends were born and bred in the boroughs as often our parents were.
My parents were both born in Manhattan which sounds a lot more glamorous than it was. My mother’s family quickly moved to Greenpoint Brooklyn long before it was hip–actually when it first was beginning to be she refused to believe us. Nor would she go there.
My father was born on Madison Street in the Lower East Side in an apartment with a pot to pee in. They quickly moved to East Harlem where he had such an incredible childhood (or so his stories made it seem) my sister and I wanted it to be the depression and us to have grown up on East 107th Street and Madison Avenue long before Schomburg Plaza was built. He loved the synchronicity of From Madison Street to Madison Avenue–and loved it even more when I moved to East 63rd Street between Fifth and Madison.
Many of my best stories took place there because I was young and it was the 1970’s and 80’s. Even when life was horrible it was great. I understand now that was because I had life’s biggest luxury–time. But who thinks about that when they’re 25?
Welcome to Courting Destiny, Part 1000 which hopefully will be updated frequently because I have my energy and mojo back. Who cares about anything else?
There are 460 posts currently in drafts and 1300 or so posts. For the record! Some record as nobody including me really cares!