There are lots of things I’ve wanted to write lately about blogging, writing, and living in general. Living my life with my friends and family, living my life online with my writing buddies who see me more real than those close to me often do – it’s a hard balance that I am still trying to figure out over here.
And everywhere I look lately I am seeing these workshops put on by people who just seem to have it all together and going right for them. What makes these people think they are qualified to teach me how to live an authentic life, what makes these women think that they can help me find the beauty in my life better than I could hash it out on my own? It annoys me, seeing these workshops advertised, seeing people flock to bloggers like they have all the answers – and it annoys me that there is a big part of me that just wants to see what it is all about, and wants to see if I really can figure out how to be more authentic in life, but I just can’t afford it.
Honesty, obviously, is the first step to authenticity.
I am honestly broke. More broke than I have been so far in my adult life. The rent and insurance is paid (but the electric bill, the phone bill, and the cable bills aren’t), there is food in the kitchen for me and Elise (although none of it would make it onto a list that said ‘healthy’ on the top), there is gas in the car (as long as I don’t go far) and twenty-nine dollars in my pocket to see me through until Friday (because my checking account was overdrawn when the car insurance was automatically charged.) The savings account, you may ask? It’s been empty for months.
I know that I am on a dangerous road. I’m twenty-nine. It’s time to start building up that fabled nestegg, right? It’s time to start thinking about retirement, or at least thinking about the time in my life that is coming sooner than I can imagine when I am old and tired and maybe not able to work as much or as effienciently for the money as I am now. The fact is, now, I have no future. I have no chance. I have no light at the end of the tunnel that is keeping my head above water, because I know that when Friday comes and two weeks of my pay is directly deposited into my bank, there will be nothing to smile about, because that money is already spent.
There was a time that I didn’t want to blog about my real life. I didn’t want to blog about the things that bothered me, the things that scared me, the things that hurt me. I didn’t want to bring anyone down to the down low where I’ve been at, hiding inside, for quite a bit too long.
But honesty is the path to authenticity, or so I’ve been told. So honestly: I am struggling. Thankfully there are things to be happy about and look forward to, and my next list of grace should be a good one.
To beat back the blues, Elise and I are going to dinner at Alisha and Dan’s tonight. We’re going to have American Chop Suey, I am going to do our laundry, and at some point we are going over Daryl Justin Finzio’s house to pick up lawn signs for his mayoral campaign.
See, that is something I haven’t been writing about for one reason or another – the part that I’ve gotten to be quite active lately in local politics, being that I’ve finally found someone who inspires me to work hard for change in a town I fled from and flee to on a regular basis.
All this goodness, all of these great things that I have been doing lately, like campaigning for Daryl with my best friend, like writing more lately than I have in months, like the fact that today I am going to place a folder filled with my words and pages into Dan’s hands and pretty much give him my heart – these things have been paled by my inability to open up and be honest and authentic with myself, with you.
But I’m working on it. See?