Life Is Inscrutable--Prioritize

I’ve had a recurring daydream for a long time. I wake up naturally—no alarm clock—in my RV to the sound of blissful silence. A soft breeze flows across my face from an open window. I step outside to the scent of morning dew on mountain wood, brown damp earth beneath my feet, a songfest of wild birds. After my second cup of coffee I power up the computer at my little RV workspace and, inspired by nature peeping in through all the windows, lush greenery and blue sky, I write my next western romance. At the end of a peaceful, productive day followed by a simple slow-cooked meal, I turn to my quilting and machine embroidery to stitch heirlooms for future generations to admire. Ah, life is good.

Then I wake up.

Life is still good, but it’s nothing like my daydream. Life? Life is inscrutable. You have less control than you think. That said, I’ve learned a whole lot in the last year about life, plans, and priorities.

Last May my husband and I set out in a 37-foot motorhome to travel from Virginia to California to care for my ailing 93-year-old father and my husband’s frail 90-year-old mother. The plan: Work from the RV (for our respective employers) three days a week and care for my father and mother-in-law three days a week from June till early December, hire someone to look after them, and then return home before Christmas. The reality: We got stuck in Houston with RV issues for six weeks, my husband’s mother died a few weeks after we arrived in California; my father’s wife died a few weeks later; and my father died eight days after his wife. In 11 weeks we lost three elderly family members, all residents of the same city, and had to close up two estates, one of which involved cleaning out 50+ years of collectibles and readying a house for sale. We finally arrived home late January this year and immediately started packing up our own house to sell. While packing my husband suffered two heart attacks and required three hospitalizations. As a result, every major goal I’ve set since spring of last year has fallen behind my “schedule.” My latest quilt sits, unpieced, in a black plastic yard bag at the rear of the RV (which we have moved back into).

I’ve written nothing.

I kept telling myself I would get back to my writing when things “calmed down.” But now I realize that I operated under a delusion. Life never “calms down.” Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof; that is, tomorrow will have a new set of problems, guaranteed. Every season has setbacks.

But writers have priorities. Writing is not a luxury to be indulged in your free time, that is, not if you think of yourself as a professional writer. Though I gained time with my father, I’ve lost time with my writing that I will never get back. I will never let it happen again.