If you asked me what I did each day, it would be difficult for me to tell you. I don’t get dressed and go to work, and some days, I don’t even cook dinner. But ever since we moved here, I feel like I am swamped.
Perhaps you have noticed I haven’t written in three weeks ( I know you’ve noticed–you’ve told me so.) And I feel terrible about it. Writing life after advertising has made me feel connected to each of you, which has been pure joy. I love your comments, on and outside the blog, and I love just knowing that you are there.
I have thought about ending it all. (The blog, that is.) Because I hate having days and days go by when I can’t find the time, or the focus, to sit and write. It seems like I am not holding up my end of the bargain: I ask you to come visit my website, I should have something to say.
I even wrote my final post, and was about ready to publish it. But then my sister-in-law asked me to reconsider. How sweet is that!
So here I am. Again. For whatever it is worth.
Right after I came back from a year in Paris, which was exciting but traumatizing and life changing all at once, a book came out called “A Year in Provence.” It was written by a guy who had left the world of advertising for a year in France, and wrote about it. It was an instant hit, is now kind of a classic, and he has made a pot of money from it, plus he gets to write off all of his trips to France for the rest of his life as “research.” I couldn’t believe it. He and I had the same tricky year abroad, but he was clever enough to cash in on it in a book.
Another one of my sisters-in-law just gave me the book “Slow Love” which is written by a woman, fifty-something, who leaves her highly visible, highly stressful job in New York City and struggles to regain her equilibrium. Another hit. Another book I should have written that would have let me retire rich and write off all of my trips back to New York for the rest of my life.
Then there is that book idea I have that keeps nagging at me to be written; “The “Devil Wore Prada” in advertising, but with a guy for a boss and a murder thrown in.
So if I am going to write, I really should start my book. I probably should say good bye, here and now, since I am just not sure I can keep writing this with the vigor that I would like, and that you deserve.
But instead, I will ask for your patience.
And I will do my best to keep treading water.