When I was 48-years-old I began to realize that fifty was a bit too close for comfort. Having lived a “freelanced life” since I was twenty, it was time to get serious. I was single, childless and, as a yoga instructor and massage therapist, earning far less than the majority of my clients.
A freelanced life is not an unfulfilled life. It is a life that can be prone to periods of insecurity. When fifty arrived last November, I embraced it. I believed the second half of my life was going to be filled with the same level of adventure as the first. But I also needed my life to feel secure. I needed to believe – to know – that my future was secure.
And so I decided to become a writer.
I decided that all I needed to do was write a few personal essays and in the blink of an eye I’d have a contract with Oprah’s name on it and deposit for my first home.
Seriously – stop laughing.
We would all like to believe that’s how it happens, but for the majority of us it’s a damn hard slog. We’re writer and cheerleader; the victories happen, but they’re small; hope arrives and disappears in an instant. We juggle a working life with our writer’s life and balance art with business.
I came down to earth very quickly. Writing may be a God-given talent for some. For me it’s a skill to be practiced.
I began to practice in earnest at the beginning of September, 2008, at the insistence of a private yoga client. She paid for my enrollment in local class. I went, kicking and screaming. It was the beginning of my new writer’s life.