My career is a big mess. Scattered across my desk are bits and pieces and ideas. To the left is my novel and all the possibilities for promotions and lectures, to my right is growing pile of reviews and answers and interesting observations to feed this messy social network. How many articles should I write, where should they go? How many blogs? Where should I post them? How can I drive traffic to my new blog site? Should I charter a bus or drive readers in one at a time in an electric car? Should I create more Videos? When? How? What is the perfect video? Where did I put the Flip camera? Under the pile of notes?
How can I promote the books I do have, how can I make those sexier? I know I need to clean up. I want desperately to clean up all the ideas and possibilities that scatter over my consciousness like an exploded sock drawer; nothing is mated and nothing matches, many have holes.
I don’t live a messy life, I live a messy career. Even my oldest son has neat, easy to identify problems, he needs a job and he needs to move. That is easy to understand and to tackle. For my life, we have a plan as well. To get to our dream, which is to own a second home in Nevada City, I need more work, even a part time job. The goal is clean and clear, the idea of securing a second part time job – is messy.
I clean my drawers, throw out the socks with holes all in the hopes that a clean house will equal a clean career.
And it’s not working. It’s all so constantly in disar
ray that I wonder if that’s the way of it, that I can control my house, but I will always be servicing the messy untried new, the different, all to stay abreast and all in service of forwarding the books and my own career.
It’s enough to make me get up and clean the lint catch in the dryer. Anything but face my own overwhelming prospects.