Wannabeing

Last month, the county finally came by to inspect the panel upgrade (which was done in early March). Last week, the power company finally came by and changed out the box (which has hung like a demented octopus outside my bedroom window the whole time, preventing me from going forward with my gardening plans for that side of the house). And last night I finally realized that this house-to-home-in-a-year isn't the reason for my life right now.

I labelled this blog's theme for the first time last year - "Cleaning Up and Clearing Out," it was, and I did a lot of it, especially in our finances (so much so that even though I'm at about half of where I was this time last year, even though we've had two trips and put several grand into my IRA, we're still just fine). This year, January first, I put "Risk-Taking and Idiot-Proofing" up. I thought the risks were my decorating and building choices. But it's so much more than that, isn't it?

This is about what I want to be when I grow up.

Risk-taking: something I did instinctively in my childhood, something I've hidden from in my adulthood. I haven't made much progress on the house, have I? Deep down, I knew that was just a small part of the journey, I think, because instead of pulling out the rototiller I've been beefing up my resume - and actually sending it out. Instead of tearing up the kitchen floor I've been stepping out in more form-fitting clothing - just because the Lug's eyes light up when I do. Instead of damming up my money I've been building channels to let it flow - and irrigate a few parched fields. Instead of trying to control the world I've been daring it to knock me down - and accepting when it does. And instead of guarding my heart I've been forgiving and loving and showing it as if there's no tomorrow.

But there is a tomorrow, and it's terrifying and funny and prickly and wonderful.

This whole month, something has been niggling at me (gently, with a bit of a quack). I have a class of younger kids, middle-schoolers instead of high-schoolers, bright and quick and trying to work on their test scores so they can shine at our local magnet school. "Arcane" came up on a synonym practice set. Most of the students picked "magic" as the correct answer, but, of course, it was "mysterious." We got to talking about books, and I told them something of the world and characters who have been haunting me for over two decades. They listened, rapt, then asked where could they get this book. I told them it isn't written yet. "Why not?" they asked.

A simple question. Flattering, too, since they said it with a cry of "unfair." I started to make the usual excuses, the usual hemming and hawing ... but I couldn't do it.

"Why not?" I asked myself.

This whole week, I've been reading Fantasty & Science Fiction magazine, catching up on the issues I've let build up in my "to be read" box. Why did I hide them, box them away, when I love reading them so much? No clue. But as I'm losing myself in these fabulous, imaginary worlds, all I can think is, "I want that."

Then, just a few days ago, I met a fellow teacher and writing junkie at the local Starbucks. She told me she plans to write "seriously" when she retires, and I, the mentor and cheerleader extraordinaire, said, "why wait? Why not now?"

Cue echo chamber.

The final hammer fell yesterday, when I got my class schedule for the Fall - enough to pay the bills, but not enough to make me as crazed as I have been all of August. (Oh, and did I mention that the final summer paycheck will be just enough to sustain us, if I bank it, through the leaner Thanksgiving through New Year time?)

Could Mama Angel be any more obvious? And could I truly be that stupid not to have realized it before?

Maybe I did. Maybe I - myself - built up to this, the hardest leap of all. Maybe I subconsciously built a road I have to follow. And maybe by putting it out here, for the world to see, I will actually grow the pair of big, hairy ones I once had, write a story - any story, dammit! - and send it out to a publisher, just because I can.

I think I'm starting to figure out that the idiot I need to proof against is me. And that's a very liberating thing.