I just saw this book on Amazon. Actually, I saw a shared post on Facebook that directed me to an article on “The New York Times” website and that linked to a book on Amazon. So, I saw this book on Amazon. And I really shouldn’t be on Amazon that much. I mean, there are SO MANY shops out there worthy of being supported. Like the really tiny ones where someone’s dream once came true when they started out and they had this plan to really make it with their little business just off of main street in the small town where they live. But it turns out, off of main street in a small town is just a bit too off-of to make a living of.
I want to write.
Writing the last paragraph just made me smile and I haven’t smiled a lot recently, most specifically not at work. I do smile at home, becuase having a 17-month-old in the house requires you to smile. That’s not because anyone is forcing you to smile, you just can’t help it because they do such funny stuff that just makes you smile. You’re required to. Hormones or whatever make you. You can’t do anything against it.
So back to the small business… what was I saying? Oh, so I really want to support them. I do. But then you go in, and it smells all funny, and sometimes that funny smell brings up nice memories of your childhood when most shops were small and all smelled funny, but sometimes it’s just a sad smell. The smell of something forgotten, not meant to be.
Is my writing not meant to be or am I just an idiot for not doing it? Does my writing stink like a small store that’s not meant to be?
You go in, and you find something that is somewhat what you’ve been looking for, yet not entirely. Say, you wanted to buy a rucksack and you find a duffle-bag. It suits the purpose, but it’s not what you really wanted. Or you find a rucksack, but it’s in a really odd color. I end up debating with myself if I should buy it regardlessly. To support the small man. To make the little store last a little longer.
And sometimes I do, because I can’t stand putting the item back into its place and look into the storekeeper’s sad eyes as I wander out saying something like: “Thank you very much, maybe next time.”
If I was the keeper of a small store, I’d hate “next time”. You know there’s not going to be a next time. Because it smells funny in your shop and you only sell rucksacks in really strange colors and Amazon offers all the wide range of stuff people may want and you might as well just not unlock the door the next morning to wait through another day of “Next time”s and not hear the sound of the register ring once, only the bell of the door anouncing another visitor who will leave without buying anything.
Alright, so I should buy my books in the store in the town just two miles over.
But paper doesn’t synch with my Kindle. Why do I even have a Kindle? Because I was given one. And it would be silly not to use it now that it’s already there, wouldn’t it? What else should I do? Already, precious materials have been used to produce it. Laborers have been exploited to assemble it. CO2 has been spread to transport it from production site to storage site to my home. I could buy a book in actual paper instead, but that would mean I also add to diminishing the woods of this wonderful planet, even though I have an alternative option already at hand.
So I go for the Kindle version of the book and that brings me to Amazon.
Other providers also synch with Kindle, you say? Ok, cool. I don’t have time and capacity on my hands to research that, but if someone would like to provide me with that intel, please do. I don’t have a strong inner need to further Jeff Bezos’ wealth, I’d much rather spend my money elsewhere.
Which brings me back to where I started: I found this book, and from tomorrow it will be on my Kindle, of a mother of two basically ranting about her life. Spelling it out like this, I wonder why I want to read this book.
I’m a mother of one and have plenty to rant about.
Which is what brings me back to the pupose of this post. I want to write, yet I can’t seem to get down to it. There are always more pressing things taking up my time. Like household chores. And sleep. Not too much of that, but also work. As in “sit in the office, do stuff someone else wants me to do”. And other such daily routines. I do want to write, I always have.
I read a LinkedIn Insider post by Ryan Holmes this morning, about how we neglect the wishes we had when we were 10, to do something “sensible” with our lives. But more and more people are stuck in jobs that look really great on your resume and also pay the bills really well, but are never satisfied.
I am one of them.
There, I said it.
The job I’m currently at is the fifth in roughly 9 years. I didn’t want to be a job-hopper when I first started out, but I also never wanted to stay in a job that didn’t fulfull me. Because I work in marketing and the going is very rough in marketing if your mind and heart’s not in it.
Friends and family, people I graduated university with, look at me and wonder why I’m constantly changing jobs. Well, I wish I didn’t. And I envy all of you if you’re as satisfied as you say you are. Good for you. Truly. But I’m not. Never have been.
Maybe the thing that I should be doing is right here, at my fingertips, literally.