Being a writer is funny sometimes. (Okay, a lot of the time, but you know what I mean). It’s funny because I can sit in front of the computer, or on my bed, or wherever I’m writing, and I can delve into the heart of some of humanity’s deepest problems. I can travel to the highest heights, I can sink to the lowest depths, I can kill with a stroke of my pen and breathe life with the next. I’m perfectly happy.
And then I go upstairs and snap at my sister, argue with my mom, rain on everyone’s parade, and behave like a three-year-old. I feel rather like Loki. “I’m so much cleverer than everyone else, and I have so much power over these lives, but I’m going to spend it making other people unhappy. I do what I want, Thor!” Not that I intend to make others unhappy – in fact, one of my greatest joys is doing just the opposite! – but something gets in the way.
‘Me’ is a funny little thing. It starts out small; a bright, happy, fluffy creature. But it doesn’t like to be looked at. The more you look at it and admire how adorable and pretty it is, the meaner, uglier, and bigger it grows until you’re too fascinated to look away, but you’re no longer looking at what you had before.
I have a major problem with anger. Now, it isn’t always a major problem – it rears its hideous head every few years, and I find my temper on a short leash. I get angry at the slightest thing, and I’m really not a very nice person. (Note: It isn’t that I’m mean all the time, but my reactions to things are pretty ugly even if they’re gone in an instant).
So, I guess you could say my anger problem comes from a self-centeredness problem. Sigh. I hate re-learning things, but this is something I have to deal with over and over and over again…. it’s so easy to get focused on myself. I’m a fairly private person at home; I sit in my room and read, draw, write, listen to music, and ‘do my thing’ without really engaging in everybody else’s lives. And the funny thing is, while I like being alone, after a while I end up with the short end of the stick. I realize that I don’t know everyone as well as I should, and myself really isn’t the best company.
In short, I need to stop hanging around myself and get out a little more, even if it means just stepping beyond the boundaries of my bedroom door and going upstairs. Often this feels futile; other people are busy, and I end up roped into a game I really don’t want to play or reading on the couch exactly like I would downstairs… but it’s making an effort. And it’s during all those games, or just sitting upstairs and listening, that I catch glimpses of everyone else’s lives.
This goes for all of you, too! I know lots of you are writers, so I’m telling you now – don’t forget to spend time with everyone else, and don’t be dragged into the cyclone of self-centeredness because it ain’t easy to get out of. I love you all bunches.