I think it’s time to have conversations.
I say think because I need to clarify. I surprised myself here. I feel like Did I just say that? Who am I? I have real, scary feelings. Remember, I’m the girl that accidentally wrote a book. I ask lots of questions like Do I have to be an author now? And I’m not really sure if I have anything valuable to say here. Do I?
My biggest fear in writing a book was simply: I would be labeled as an author. I imagined that life would start to drift that author-y way. Perhaps, I would even pump out a few books but eventually scream inside, Do I still have to be an author? Can I just be me?
Here’s the problem.
I don’t even know what I want to be when I grow up. I kinda homeschool a little bit but sometimes we just read and color and that was school. I sometimes have an amazing plan and other times, no plan at all. It’s not just parenting that is this way. I am really, truly this inconsistent always.
Sometimes I plan amazing parties and I sometimes wing them. I sometimes sing or do musicals and sometimes I just grocery shop in yoga pants, buy veggies, buy flowers and arrange them pretty. I sometimes care deeply about writing a book and changing the world. Then, other times I kinda just want to drink tea in the quiet, stare out a window, think about the world and don’t care if anything changes but me.
Do I have to be consistent? If I am, is that good branding? Or at what point is it just marketing and not really me?
This is strange. I feel excited but scared. I feel brave but unsure. I feel proud of myself and completely humiliated. It’s all at once and no in between. Is this what being human feels like? I think so.
I want to be known and seen. I want to be a leader and contribute value. But, some days I want to be completely invisible and lead no one- just love people and have no values except…I am valuable.
I had this scary thing happen once.
I wrote a book.
A real book.
Like a real book.
Then, it got published.
Then, it was (is) a bestseller.
Then, I got excited and I made a website and a blog and I took pretty pictures and I started posting stuff. I started telling people.
Then, I freaked out and moved cross country and didn’t have internet and didn’t care and grocery shopped at a local farm and kayaked. We bought a boat on a whim and caught fish and picked berries and made a heaping handful of berry pies for neighbors and backpacked Mt. Baker with our friends and our kids and their kids and washed clothes in the river and then…I remembered I wrote a book.
And, I had a website. Hmm…
I imagined that the world wanted and needed something from me and that was the scariest feeling I ever had. I cried.
I wished it all away. I wanted to unsay everything I worked so hard to say. I was so afraid I couldn’t keep being me. I was a real author and I didn’t know what that meant.
At that instant, I quieted my heart. I introverted. I stole away and I read 110 five-star reviews and 1 four-star review and I cried even more. Anything I ever hoped to do for others was done. It happened. I couldn’t take it back but I stopped wanting to.
Real women. Real readers.
Real lives said you changed my life and I knew that it was time to be brave enough to have conversations that matter.
This is me.
A thinker and a doer.
A life-giver to possibilities at home.
In this place (this blogging place) I will use all of my thinking and be me, with all of the inconsistencies.
One busy mom’s thoughts (the title of this blog) will be just that. Not perfect advice. Not ideas that won’t change. Not as an expert, just as a busy mom and a thinker.
So, with every fear and insecurity and without any concern for who I am or will be, I’ll pick brave and just start this new thing.
I’ll start at home while the scariest feeling I’ve ever had slowly disappears.
Welcome to the “One Busy Mom’s Thoughts” blog from the author of (I’m failing at) This Thing Called Home: one busy mom’s thoughts on changing the narrative, embracing possibilities and re-making home.