So I put out my memoir – a quick backstory of all the fuckshit I think makes me the way I am – and two things I hoped would happen didn’t.
First, I was real pumped on selling 200 copies through social media and that goal, to date, has not been achieved. Second, I really thought if I put down all the things that had made me feel fucked up that I would feel less fucked up.
Lo, I am still an angry bird. Yes, even in paradise.
Things are not going well.
Look, I like to keep a positive attitude. Everyday I keep up my affirmations. Everyday I put in work toward my goals, toward my dreams. Everyday I show up and am present to push forward my plans.
Unforeseen developments change plans. Since April I’ve been trying to get my business off the ground. And I’ve had a few clients here and there. But I’m only as good as my clients, and only one of my clients has been consistent in keeping his website updated.
One client lapsed on her hosting and is rethinking the work she wants to display – which is completely fair and something every artist will do from time to time.
Another client who hired me in December and was late paying their deposit, even though I graciously delivered the draft before hand (note: never do this), emailed me in late February to resume the project, assuring me he would pay the balance of the fee up front. He has predictably gone silent again since my reply.
And my most recent client, while paid in full and apparently satisfied with the site I delivered, has decided to hand off site-maintenance to someone else.
Lastly, unrelated to work, and admittedly trivial… The host at my homestay double-booked my room and then I had to downgrade. While a lower price is always welcome, there’s a lot to be said for comfort and space.
And so I’m disappointed, dissatisfied with my results, inconvenienced, and trying to roll with the punches but still sort of losing steam.
I had a full on meltdown/cry last Friday when my hot water ran out just as I was getting to the rinse and relax part of my shower. It was literally the straw.
I didn’t want to start sobbing in my room and draw any attention to myself.
So I took a walk down a quiet street, sat down on the asphalt and cried.
It felt like everything I was running from had found me. And no, I don’t mean my landlord, or my half-brother, or that possessed former roommate. I mean upset.
Sure, you know I get it. Life is full of ups and downs. You take the bad with the good. You have to learn to roll with the punches. You have to get up and keep going. I know that. And I sure as hell always do and always will.
I just wonder, what’s the ideal turn-around on feeling sorry for yourself? How patient do I need to be with clients old, new, former, and flaky? Where is the line between going after what you feel you deserve, and being a doormat?
I also wonder, if I was more gracious, more pleasant, more genuinely understanding might I have better luck? Do things stall and unravel for me because I’m inherently entitled, and far too frantic? So the Universe decides to nudge me back a few steps…
Or am I just hyper sensitive and internalizing?
I think it’s all of the above. I certainly felt hyper sensitive last week. And I’m sure the Universe would like me to remember I am not its center. All I’m saying is it’s hard to go after what you want. It’s hard to build something from scratch. It’s hard to deal with other people when other people aren’t invested in the same things as you.
It’s hard. But I can’t dwell. I have to keep going.