Bohemian Delight

As I wrote in my last entry, I am very slowly getting used to having the freedom to construct my days as I wish. Or experience them as they unfold.

When I woke up late this morning, I remained in my bed surrounded by the cats. I stretched long and leisurely. I had a call from a colleague/friend at my former job, and arranged to meet her and a few others a week or two hence for lunch. I called my aunt to be regaled with stories of the various power outages from our Santa Ana of last night. Then I got up. I made my coffee. I fed the felines who had trailed after me into the kitchen, I  sat in my favorite swivelling and rocking chair, and watched the still strong winds bending the tree outside my window and worried that it would break. It was already 12 noon.

I returned to the non-fiction memoir. I hate it. I love it. I can do it. I can't. I have new found respect for the professional writer, who makes, or tries to make a living with words.. There is nothing quite so difficult, and truth be told frustrating. I felt something of it when I wrote briefs and could not quite find the turn of words that conveyed my thought, but creative writing, whether about real or fictional events, is a torture.


Let me digress for a second. What about blogging? How does that fit in between brief writing and working on a memoir that someone will publish one day? Blogging is more like a casual conversation. Yes, you have to think about it. You have to have a beginning, middle and end. Maybe you have to even have a point. But because it is more informal by nature, and the urgency to edit is not (at least for me) there (perhaps it should be), it is less of an anxiety to do it. But this thing I am trying to do, this making a book, is in a unique category of life efforts. I now understand the old cliche, "I hate writing, but I love having written!"

But also, there is this moment, maybe even endorphins do kick in as they do with a runner,or when a trial lawyer, which I used to be, has that "Perry Mason" moment, when all the fear about whether it is worth doing, it is being done well, it will ever be received well if it is seen, just doesn't matter.


Two hours went by and it was only when my back hurt (this is going to be a problem I see, I may need a real chair for this work) that I stopped. I decided to print out what I have done so far, and take it with me to Starbuck's where I would have a Venti hot chocolate and take a few moments to see how it was flowing, maybe make a few edits. 

Today's working location, pen, paper and a hot chocolate!

I got there about three. One of the things that has truly amazed me about not having a regular job is that there appear to be a whole lot of people in the same circumstance. And they do not seem to be suffering the trials of the unemployed. They are ordering up all sorts of desserts. They are parents with kids. There are computers on every table, with people making cell call after cell call. It was like the proverbial Grand Central Station in there. I barely found a place to plant myself, but happily it was in one of those deep leather chairs that they have now. Mostly the constituency around me changed. A father and his son chirping in a mix of two languages he is learning.  Said the father "I have no idea what he is saying."  Several well coiffed tall young women with their perfectly matched outfits, and their soy lattes. Across from me was a man who I think was working, and e mailing various things to potential consumers of whatever it was he did. He'd call someone. He'd get up and go outside for a cigarette, asking me in a most friendly manner if I would be there a while and would I keep an eye on his computer. (I did). I had never done this, in all the years, be in a Starbuck's for more than a few moments on my way to somewhere else. But I was seeing the regulars greet each other. This was indeed a destination and one that people inhabit for a long time during a day.


I found myself, well, working on the pages I brought with me. I found myself revising, as well as editing. There was something pleasant about the substantial beginnings of a book by the Djinn.The sun went down and the shades went up. It had been dark for an hour or more when I had finally finished my now cool hot chocolate and I found myself tired from concentration. I said goodbye to my new and passing acquaintance across from me. "Take care", he said.


I had been WORKING in this social environment, but also feeling comfortable amid the noise and the interactions which surrounded me.  It is not what I am used to but it has its own rhythm.


I always wanted to live a bit of an unconventional lifestyle, and here it is, my version.. I want to learn to embrace it. I am in the unusual position to be able to do so, without danger to my very existence. I am most fortunate and grateful, in between the anxiety.


The key for me will remain not imposing old ways of being upon this new way of living. And today I experienced a little of its delight, if only I would tame the type A personality that has been mine since I can remember. I think, also, it is important to this new way of being that I have no expectations of the day, or of myself, except to go forward and to learn, and to live, indeed, as if it were my last day.