Tuesday, July 4, 2017

My Failed Declaration of Independence

By Susan

This whole househusband thing isn't working out quite as intended.

My husband retired a month ago, much to my joy and delight. I anticipated a life with time for writing. Someone else will clean the house! Shop for groceries! Cook me gourmet meals every night!

I'd have a kept man... a cabana boy... a scullery lad. All those tasks interfering with my writing were off my plate, and I would devote my hours to the written word. Needless to say, those large swaths of time did not materialize. Nor has the vastly increased word count.

Certainly, the house has been cleaner. The grocery fairy has been leaving fresh fruit and vegetables in the fridge. I can't complain. He stays busy. Living with this man is like living with a border collie. "Gotta have a project! Gotta have a project! Woof, woof, WOOF!"

But he's not at my beck and call like some handsome manservant. He has his own things to do: tackling all those house projects that built up over 11 years living in an old house, mountain biking up at Vedauwoo, playing guitar. And when I get home at the end of the day he wants to spend time with me doing something other than staring at me while I type.

Then there's the bathroom (groan).

A scrub of the scrungy tub led to a strip of dislodged caulk led to the discovery of water damage in a corner of the floor. Now we have no sink, no vanity, no shower hardware or walls, and half of the linoleum is ripped up. (I guess technically, it's vinyl flooring, but I love the sound of the word, "linoleum.") On the other hand, we've got $200 worth of brand new ceramic tile out in the truck waiting to be unloaded.

He'll do the work himself. (WOOF!) He's a DIY kind of guy. He even bought me a tile saw for Valentine's Day one year.

When he was kicking around the idea of retirement, I envisioned coming home with evenings galore to sit at my laptop. In my mind, it promised freedom, my declaration of independence from the tasks that weighed down my writing. But truth be told, my writing is only weighed down when I do not make it a priority.

As I write this, I think forward to my own retirement in 2,405 days, 7 hours, 33 minutes, 30... 29... 28 seconds (not that I'm counting.) THEN, I will have hours upon hours to write... won't I?

I won't, unless I declare my independence from the fears and anxieties that paralyze me. I must battle my inertia, ignore distractions, and develop the ability to say "no" to unnecessary tasks and obligations. I must make writing my priority.

I can do that -- as can you. We carve out our own space for writing. Maybe, just maybe, today is the day I declare my freedom and start putting the words on paper that I'm meant to.

My one concern writing this post is that some will think I'm making too light of Independence Day. I hope you do not take it that way. I wish you all a Happy Fourth of July. May this great country celebrate many birthdays to come.


And as I now get ready to hit the PUBLISH button, it's 2,403 days, 11 hours, 31 minutes, and 20 seconds until I retire. Not that I'm counting...