You know, it's kind of funny, but only recently (...like in the last three months...) have I confidently been able to say, "I'm Annika. I'm a published writer." Call it Imposter Syndrome. Call it a lack of confidence. Call it whatever the heck you want...the bottom line is that conversations about my books typically went like this.
-New Friend: Nice to meet you! What do you do?
-Me: I'm a grad student...and I used be a teacher...I write too.
-New Friend: You write? Like...blogs? Books?
-Me: Yeah. I write books.
-New Friend: Oh, have you thought about getting published? Are you already published?
-Me: I'm already published.
-New Friend: Oh, cool. When? What's it called?
Me: It's called the Rearranged Life...it was published in 2015.
-New Friend: Like, at Barnes and Noble?
Are you cringing? I AM CRINGING. Digging out of me that I was a writer was harder than cracking into a cement block with a plastic shovel. I often justified it with, "Yes, I have two Master's in..." or "Yes, I'm still working on...
Reinvention isn't something that always needs a start date down the road. Sometimes, you wake up and realize that there are things that need to change and that today is the time to make it happen.
Today was that day for me.
Over the last year, I've done my best to float above the waves but I've drowned between school, work, and a million goals. Having drive and ambition are some of the best things someone can possess in their arsenal--how else are you supposed to make life better for you and everyone around you? But I was sinking fast. And something needed to change. My fear of missing out (Holla if you've got FOMO too!) was becoming dangerous and I was treading the line of Spread Too Thin And Missing Out Anyway.
Every day, I woke up tired, disorganized and purposeless. For me, that's a strange feeling--to be so displaced and stepping so carefully in life that I felt like I was walking on eggshells All. The. Time. With a buffalo on my back. I could not, for the life of me, figure out wher...