I’m a little overwhelmed by all the requests for my time, my input, and my support right now.
I’d like to think it’s because I’m so smart but I know better. I’m arrogant but not that arrogant.
Everything sounds good. I get excited by each new option but when I sit with it for a while- if I manage to sit with it for a while before promising my soul in return for a couple of pats on the head- I start to sort through what fits and what does not.
I don’t want to be a fundraiser. I have no patience for it. I grew up a WASP and WASP’s don’t talk about money. Ever. It’s rude. I put myself in the position of asking for money and I get nervous, edgy and uncomfortable. I can hold court about a candidate I believe in at my son’s baseball game. I did tonight. But arrange a party to have people come to hear the same candidate speak for himself? Couldn’t handle the pressure.
I felt like I was waiting for a date to the senior prom in high school. Will anyone call? I don’t even like boys but… will anyone call?
Yes, I did go to the prom. Wore a dusty rose, full-length gown. Never even gave the poor guy a kiss- ended up making out with the girl from our double date. Like I said, I didn’t like boys. But the girl was very cute.
I tried fundraiser extraordinaire role on and it felt awful.
I have a couple people circling, trying to get me to sit on the boards of their not for profit’s. I’m honored. Everything sounds like a great cause.
I am, however, one person. And my first priority is my family. Second? My writing.
Truthfully? Every time I spent too much time away from my writing, if it was for a job commitment or giving birth- a fairly noble cause even in my mind- I became miserable.
Writing is all I have ever wanted to do.
A friend, someone who is a writer I admire- I’d say I admire greatly but I know he reads the blog and I don’t want him to get a big head because then he may change his mind- acknowledged me as a writer tonight.
I mumbled something about not much of an audience and sometimes missing the mark completely.
He smiled and said, but are you having fun?
Yes. I am having fun. Amazing fun. I love it.
The rest? The rest gives me an interesting, if not a little warped, perspective on the world. I often feel like giving my time and effort is not enough, that I have done little. Yet ultimately? I end up exhausted.
Every day I spend writing something, taking time to re-write, think about it, find a funny story in the newspaper or follow up with an idea with research? I’m in heaven.
My friend Margaret said to me, You are not a fundraiser, Sara, you are a hell raiser.
I know there will be other offers coming my way. I have to be very careful. I have many things to offer many different people.
I guess I am that arrogant after all.
If I become charmed by their charm, their belief in me, their gentle cooing that I am the one to make a difference, I’m in serious trouble.
I can never believe my press.
In the long run? It leaves me feeling empty.
I’ve talked about all the doors open to me. In the last few weeks? I’ve started to shut a few. There is only one I care about, one I dream about, one I have done since I was nine and will do until the day I die.
My kids no longer ask me what I do for work, as they did over and over when they were little. Momma Jeani is a composer… but what do you do?
I’m a mom, I’d retort. No pay and plenty of poop.
Now they know I’m a writer. You write your blog everyday and that’s your job, right?
I know where my heart lies.
Even without the press.