I Do Too Much

So why don't I just stop?

My grandmother has been gone now for a decade, but I can still hear her voice, especially on days like today, when I cram the schedule too full of too many things that probably aren’t necessary.

You do too much, she’s saying.

Her face is scrunched and her eyes are narrowed. Her soothing, familiar voice, which was so much like a hug, has judgment in it and I’m ok with that. You do too much.

Eliana with Gigi (my grandmother) and my cousin's daughter Stella; my three children on Halloween with my grandmother; Gigi, Eliana, me, my mom and Asher

She was right, though when she said it, I didn’t want to believe her. I wanted, instead, to cling to my busy ways, to believe that I was so important because I had so many things to do.

But the thing with being too busy is that you don’t do much of anything meaningful. At least I don’t. I race and I worry and my breath comes in gulps and before the day is done, I am thoroughly tired and not very accomplished.

So why do I do it?

Sometimes, it’s a distraction to prevent me from making real progress on a project.

Sometimes, it’s a true desire to serve others or be with people who matter to me, sandwiched between work.

Sometimes, it’s something much deeper, which I won’t bore you with.

Today, in my Accountability Cohort, my writing student Maria said, “I’m on a journey of discovery with writing, and it’s important for me to write no matter what.”

I loved those words so much that I wrote them down and now am sharing them with you. Yes, Maria, you’re right. And I need to be on that same journey.

When was the last time I wrote?

Well, technically, on the plane yesterday, as I was returning home from visiting my son in Minneapolis. It was a hastily scribbled essay about kayaking in Monterey Bay with my younger son last February. Inspired by memory and reading John Steinbeck’s The Long Valley. (Which I was reading in anticipation of my Write in the Redwoods Retreat next month—see, always running.)

But the last time I sat down to focus on the page in front of me, to craft a longer work, something submittable for publication?

Hmmm…not sure.

And I’m ashamed to say it because this is a newsletter on writing and publishing and I’m supposed to offer all kinds of tidbits for inspiration and motivation.

Except maybe it’s ok to be honest and real and vulnerable and say, I’m not very good at this right now.

Or maybe the words should be something more like my writing ebbs and flows and it’s ok, I’m trying to get a handle and a focus and I’ll be there soon.

My grandmother with her sweater bearing the names of all her great-granchildren; the two of us at my second wedding

I’m doing too much, Grandma. You told me that so many years ago, and now you’re not here to tell me again, but your voice sounds in my head, and I know it speaks truth. And I am ashamed that all these years and I haven’t learned the lesson or fixed the problem or gotten to a point of understanding about why I pack my schedule so full that my head spins.

I set aside the novel that I wrote two first drafts in because it wasn’t working. I’ve started outlining the novel I want to write. And I dug out a dusty manuscript of my creative nonfiction essays to work on publishing in early 2025 as I work on the next novel.

In the process, I noticed so many essays that I haven’t submitted or which are almost finished but not quite, and it reminded me there is so much to write. So much of my words, my ideas, my experiences, to record on paper and offer up for conversation.

The plane landed early yesterday, before 6 p.m. I drove straight home, dropped my bags and my husband and I left for dinner with my daughter, her boyfriend and his parents. We were there late. When we got home in the perfect-dark, my son was up and waiting for us and we sat on the couch in the family room all four of us just to talk. I wanted to get under the blankets, but I also wanted to be with two of my children, and so I stayed down there for a while, listening to the music of their voices.

Today, I had a full schedule of things to-do, but my daughter broke her finger last week and is in a cast on her dominant hand, so I offered to help her carry items back to her apartment. And then of course, I had to stay a while and notice the character and detail of the place where she lives, and the perfect top-knot of her silky hair and talk a while because that’s the stuff of life.

You see why I’m so busy? Because I can’t pass up the perfect moments, even when I want to write about them.

So I didn’t do my writing this morning as slated on the digital calendar, and I’m starting to think that’s ok. I did some cleaning in the house because it was needed, and I ate breakfast, and I showered, and all of those things are necessary, but so is writing.

I think what I’m saying is that eventually, I’ll get back to it, but that when you do too much, something spills out and that’s just the way it is. So I guess I need to accept it and see it for what it is and know that doing too much means not doing everything.

We are always making choices. Sacrificing one thing for another. Can you relate? What choice are you making today? And what are you leaving behind?

Thanks for reading the Rebel Author Newsletter. I’ll be back next Monday with ideas and messages about writing and publishing. If there is something you’d like to read about, please send a message or leave a comment. I’m grateful that you’re here! Learn more about me at https://lynnegolodner.com. And if you haven’t already, I’d sure appreciate it if you’d buy one of my recent novels, WOMAN OF VALOR and CAVE OF SECRETS.