Giving Up Control

No man is an island.
No one does it all on their own.

I fear I am a freak. A control freak.

I like to have all ten of my fingers in the pie.

For me, this is the hardest part of the writing process.
Actually it is one of the hardest life lessons I have (yet) to learn.

Losing control? That, I have mastered…I am a sensei in that department.
But willfully, willingly, knowingly giving up control. Giving into the huge what iffedness of it?

I’ve been trying. I feel as if I am constantly railing, beating my fists against the posts. Wasting effort trying to change or influence that which I can not.

I can not.(*bangs head on desk* very hard desk)

Old people and wise people seem to grasp this much earlier on.

Alas, I am getting older but no wiser.

I have no control, but still I act as if I do. I have it all scripted out. As if I am my six-year old daughter who knows exactly how it’s all going to go down in the movie which is her life. Bless her.

Along with those older, wiser people are those who have willingly given up control to someone/thing else.
I know many people like that. And I envy their calm, their acceptance, and I wish I could be like that, but I can’t.
See above: I am a freak.

Vagaries of life? check.
Ups and Downs? check.
Turns on a dime? Turns of the screw? check. check. In fact, I like change.

Wearied willingness to accept that there is not much I can do to affect or alter when or how things happen, what opportunities or disappointments will present themselves?

ummm….
How much easier THAT would be.

Part of the difficulty is that choosing to work outside an office environment, to be self-employed and self-directed, already means that I am of a certain personality type. Is it A? That’s the super bitch one, right?
I like to be the boss. I decide my work hours (approximately 20-24 hours per day), my vacation schedule (not very often), and how much I think I should be compensated for my work (still figuring this bit out). So that gives me this false assumption of control. Within the bubble that is my work life, I must also sometimes wait for inspiration to strike, something else I am not in control of, but fortunately (knock on wood) thus far, new story ideas have not been an issue. Doing the work is hard, but I love it and I do it, and I am beyond GRATEFUL for it.

This I can control. And these five things too. The manner in which I live my life. The way I choose to parent. The care I take of myself and my loved ones. Who it is that I love. The work I do.

Everything else? Pah.Pish. Que sera, sera.Suck it UP, Jo!

I should move out the clutter. All those expectations, thwarted plans, errors of judgement, mistakes, experiments gone wrong.
They are in the past.
The future is, as yet, totally open.

Those feelings which nag and weigh on me are like manuscripts that just didn’t work. I stuck them in a drawer thinking that perhaps some day there might be something salvageable, only to realize two or three years down the line, that I had moved on (in my head, in my craft, in my abilities maybe) and they hadn’t.

But it was OK because it just meant that things were not static. Change might come microscopically but it still comes.
I just can’t force it.

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