Are We Where Yet?

A friend was talking recently about how she has been writing some time, has done this, done that, and still doesn’t feel like much of a writer because ______. As I know this friend to be an awesome writer, I was surprised. Minutes later I read on Twitter that Maureen Johnson didn’t feel comfortable giving writing advice. Ten books and an MFA, as she said, and she doesn’t feel comfortable giving advice.

Well into my thirties–and heck, sometimes even now, when I’m about to turn forty-two–when someone referred to me as an adult I’d snicker in disbelief.

I’ve been financially independent for over two decades but someone calling me responsible still provokes a giggle.

Don’t even get me started on “organized.”

I just don’t feel any of it. I know the childish things that run through my head. I know how often I’m fighting the urge to do silly things. And how often I’m looking for things I never should have misplaced.

The challenge, I think, is to look at ourselves as others do: seeing results. I can drive safely, avoid a fight without giving in, pay my taxes, and honor a lease. I know when my bills are due, and I know that, barring accidents (and my child texting nine hundred times over her limit, augh!) I’ll be able to pay them.

Hell, I even know where my bills are.

Our feelings aren’t a reliable compass to “there.” We have to pick our benchmarks (Do this carefully, goodness! Not being a bestselling author by thirty ruined several birthdays, I’d planned on it SO HARD) and go for it.

And let ourselves believe we’ve done something when we achieve them.

(Then, if not before, we need another goal, but that’s another post.)