I’m A Writer, I’m Stressed, And I Have No Idea What I’m Doing. Somehow, I’m Succeeding Anyway.
Hi, my name is Emily and I’m addicted to self-improvement ebooks, deep-level snuggie escapism, and long bouts of existential dread.
My spine is tight. My shoulders are tense. It is 11 pm and I literally have no pressing responsibilities, but…I’m still stressed. How is such a thing possible, you might ask?
Actually, most of you probably wouldn’t ask, because the feeling is already familiar to you. Creatives like us tend to live in this state more than we’d readily admit.
It’s a combination of “I took on too many projects at once but none of them are urgent,” “I have too many options, and now I feel guilty for complaining about that,” and “oh God, what if I fail and end up living in a cardboard box with my 20-pound cat, Norbert, and his millions of stolen earplugs.”
Okay, maybe that last part is a bit specific, but still. He’s a big boy, and he has a lot of earplugs in his collection. I just don’t think the average Amazon box has enough room for us, and I worry he won’t be given the opportunities he deserves if I become a hobo.
