I failed. It only took two weeks into the new year and I failed. It was going great, I was having fun, I was inspired, I was ready. Then I went to London for work. With 3 days notice. And I was going to be living there for 6 to 9 months. So things got really crazy really fast and I could barely get through every day much less find a reason to celebrate each day.
Now I'm not going to be living there for 6 to 9 months. And it's entirely my choice, my call, my decision. Because I didn't want to be there for an extended period of time. I didn't want to be away from home home in NC and home in DC and my family and my friends and my Tivo and my crafts and my perfect queen bed and my hot hot shower. I loved living there at 22 but I also hated it. It's so far away and I missed so much while I was gone.
By saying no, maybe I'm missing out on an adventure and maybe I'm missing out on a great career opportunity. But I don't think so. I feel so right about this.
I've been 30 for almost exactly one month. So I'm not pretending to suddenly be looking back at my 20s like they were so long away. Or like they were even that awful because, really, they weren't. Yet I know that 5 years ago, maybe even 1 year ago, I wouldn't have had the strength or confidence to say that I'm more important than my job.
In the words of Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that. I don't want to abandon Jolly Holiday entirely so I'll think of ways I can incorporate it while actually writing regularly again. I need to be writing regularly again.