In beginning a new job I’ve had to introduce myself to new people and the common conversation begins with my name, my role in the company, and where I’ve come from.
An array of positions and industries.
Terribly boring. I’ve been thinking about how I’d like to introduce myself.
I started writing this blog entry about decisions. Big, fat, grotesque decisions that loom over you in the early hours of the morning and distract you from getting off the train at the right station. Instead, thoughts of my love affair with writing keep entering my mind. I haven’t written anything – dissertation included – since I started my new job. I’m not a writer. So what am I?
Lack of motivation, time, energy … Lack of being honest with myself … I’m a time waster. A procrastinator. And on the darkest days that little voice comes back to haunt me. What if …
What if I went back to teaching and sat on a respectable income and had ample holidays?
What if I went back to a (somewhat promising) career in retail and distribution and travelled Australia and New Zealand?
What if I packed up and moved to Edinburgh?
What if I stayed in bed under the covers refusing to let the world in?
Writing and I still need to have our chat. I’ve been putting it off. Procrastination is an art for which I have great talent and unfortunately my soul is suffering for it. Remember that happy, positive person? The one who feels alive when she writes?
Yeah, I miss her too.
How I define myself is more than a role, more than a name, more than mere words. It’s in my actions. And I need to act. I need to write.