Oh, you thought the Season was instrinsically related to the holidays which are upon us: both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Au contraire, the Season I reference is the journey of life: the Season of aging, the Season of gaining some surprising maturity, the Season of no longer having to prove anything to yourself, your family, or your friends. Share in the Season with me for a moment.
First there was that confusing, schizophrenic era of being a teenager where we didn’t know anything or as I fondly and hoping not to offend say “the shit-for-brains” phase which we all somehow endured. Then there’s the Season of getting married and doing the kid-thing with all of its harrowing nightmares, sleep deprivation, pacifiers, diaper-duty and hopeful infusions of joy and fulfillment. To know that these little people were our charge, our responsibility to turn into civilized, law-abiding, financially independent beings! Wow.
Then came the Season of competition where we strove to excel in our profession, to beat the competition, to make all the money we could make, to build a name for ourselves, to be respected and admired on LinkedIn. The race was hard and we ran it with valor and courage and acheived amazing success.
Then there was the Season of deciding we’ve had about enough of the stress, the mentoring, the pressure to achieve, the disillusionment with corporate America, the ladder up to the glass ceiling. The career was phenomenal; but we grew tired suddenly. Retirement brought sleep and eyes which weren’t bleary and precious time. For shame if we haven’t developed during our other Seasons some fun pathways to happiness like friends, golf, travel, gardening, photography, crafty stuff, cooking, bridge, you pick your pleasure.
For some of us there comes the Season to write. How wonderful to be in that Season. Writing is the surest way to sanity for me. It has gotten me through endless panic, depression, dysfuntionality within my family, heartbreak, disillusionment, loneliness, grinding grief and closely hidden days of quiet desparation. It’s also walked me into the rays of hope, blessings and contentment. It’s better than eating into obesity, better than Prozac, better than too much Scotch, better than falling into oblivion in front of the dastardly mindless television programs of today. (What happened to MASH and Andy Griffith?)
The Season of writing is not for everyone, thank goodness. At age 68, it’s like starting over, being reborn into a new, refreshing world. Starting over takes endless amounts of physical energy and mental determination. It takes a blind courage knowing that I may falter, that noone will read what I write, that noone will raise the flag of “job well done”, that some may shake their heads and laugh at what I do, that others may talk behind my back. It takes a wallop of self-confidence to forge past all the possible ills and roadblocks and just sit down and write. And lastly it takes a bit of insanity to learn social media because an author must have a “platform.” I thought those were for gymnastics. Well, anyway, you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, GoodReads, Instagram and Pinterest but NOT on LinkedIn.
I’m gently and subtly paraphrasing Wayne Dyer’s wonderful stages of life which he outlines in “Manifesting Your Destiny.” I have arrived, I hope, at my very best self…the Season of writing.
I hope you will enjoy my Season as much as I do.