Eat (whenever I want and with minimal exercise), Pray (for the perfect job to appear on the internet), Love (my time with Oliver)

So, I'm beginning to get the hang of this unemployment thing. Much has changed since my last rant, and I'm starting to fear that I'm getting too comfortable. Barring some miracle where I become rich overnight (like the publishing of a young-adult coming-of-age novel, for example), I will have to again work. Just the thought of it is frightening. Now I know how Michael Vick felt when he got out of jail. "You mean I have to play in the NFL now?" Like that dog murderer, I am rapidly getting out of shape.

The upside is I am writing like it is my job. Which of course it is not. I don't have one! But I enjoy it more than anything.

I know what you're thinking. I enjoy raising Oliver more than anything. That's true of course, but I don't need to list it every time I rate fulfillment, do I? Or Nancy? I mean, if I were to get three wishes I wouldn't first wish for air to breathe, would I? Obviously nothing else works without that, but it's there along with the sun shining already. I'll tell you what, from now on whenever I talk about happiness and don't list Oliver or Nancy, just assume they occupy the top two slots. Then we don't have to worry about being bogged down in useless paragraphs like this one anymore. But I digress.

Back to the writing thing. I started this project on the Oliver story in such a way that enough people being interested would drive me to actually finish the story. So far it's definitely been enough to keep me writing. The flip side is, now that it's not my turn I am lost. So I'm reading.

And here's the point of this whole thing. I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. You may have heard of it? Anyway, it's good and a bestseller for a reason. Read it. But that's not the point.

The point is, she's searching herself because of crisis in her life. Who hasn't? Fortunately for us, she's been kind enough to write about the experience and the story started before she started to improve. Which I thought was interesting, because my whole life has been based around self-searching and I only seem to write about it when I'm really up or really down. I decided to give the middle a shot. Here goes.

Oh yeah, I'm pretty unoriginal too. So I'll compare to what I'm reading, but it still seems interesting to me to do so. I've been thinking about it a lot. But I'm only in the first of three parts. I guess we'll soon find out how much that matters.

She (Liz) was married because she thought she should be and resenting the expectation of having children, which she didn't really want. But she had a really great job that paid her well for doing something she loves - writing. To be true to herself she acknowledged she didn't want kids, or even her husband for that matter. She went through an ugly divorce, but as the main breadwinner, she came out the other side able to travel for a whole year!

On the other hand, I married Nancy because I love her so much it sometimes makes me grit my teeth to the point that I fear they might break. And if that doesn't damage the pearly-whites then my love for Oliver is sure to. He was born because that's what we wanted. It hasn't felt wrong for a second and I don't expect it ever will. However, it is my job situation that has me reeling. I went through a divorce of sorts, but it wasn't so ugly for me as much as for the kids born of that relationship (co-workers). I too love writing, and although I once got an A+ in a 100-level writing class, I have yet to receive a cent for my imposing skill.

My search is different, and yet it's the same.

The first place Liz went was Italy. She had no real agenda other than to learn Italian and eat. Italian because it's beautiful, eat because...because it's Italy! The whole country is based around eating, for the love of God!

The first place I went was home. I ate because I have to stay alive. But quickly my life turned into Italy, and the whole day is based around food. "I need to get Oliver up so we can eat breakfast together, I need to stop working so I can feed Oliver lunch, he needs to eat now so he can sleep soon and be up from his nap at a reasonable time." Etc. As it turns out, eating responsibly means that it takes a few minutes to prepare food, clean up, and so on. Chunks of day gone, but I don't mind. I can eat what I want, and for the most part whenever I want. (Halloween candy, however, is a curse.)

But the beauty in my life is two-fold. I will take back in part what I said earlier, because it involves Oliver. But being around him so much is wonderful. Sometimes, of course, I want to put him in a basket and float him down the river. Not doing so is teaching me a lot about the depths of patience. The other times are great. I love the unsolicited, "I love you Dad," or "Oller tired," or even, "I miss Mama." I love that he's wearing underwear. That couldn't happen if I wasn't around all the time. I love wrestling him for as long as he wants, and not having to hurry up because lunch time is almost over. And I really love snuggling under a blanket with him and watching a movie. Am I a good parent? Eh, who knows? I just figure if I'm loving our time together then that love will make him a good person, somehow. And if that's true, he'll be great.

The other beauty of my life is writing. And reading this book makes me realize that what makes great writing isn't necessarily learned in school. She is funny, self-deprecating, insightful about herself, and she touches on a nerve that applies to most everyone. That's why her book is a bestseller.

Hell, I can do that.

At least I hope so. Do I want to have a book published? I'd be lying if I said no. But I understand the doubt. Why me, anyway?

Why not.

Also, does it matter? Isn't enjoying writing enough? I've actually found myself avoiding writing jobs because I'm afraid it will take away the magic. I'm probably right, too. So I keep looking at the other stuff, and I am not inspired. I am enjoying this time in my life that is suddenly filled with wonder. By helping mold a child's imagination I am molding my own. And I'm finding that imagination is powerful and easily discounted. Just know this: if I am a published author, reasonably wealthy, and living in an Italianate-style house in the next couple years, then you should remember this blog and talk to me. You can do it, too.

I am loving my personal Italy. Next up in the book is India, for spirituality. I've been so focused on that for over a decade that it sometimes makes me one-dimensional. What I'm really looking forward to is Bali. The fusing of enjoyment and a deeper meaning. Hopefully I can apply that to my life.

And when I do, I'll get back to you.