What We Give Up for Writing

This past weekend I ran into friends I haven’t seen in years at a mutual friend’s birthday party. It was a wonderful surprise to see them -- none of us realized we had this particular friend in common. I’ve been thinking about them several times over the last few days and today I found myself wondering if their contact info was listed in the phone book. Maybe we could get together for dinner! It would be so much fun to reconnect.

Then I realized that I have many friends whom I haven’t seen in weeks (months?). Not people I’ve ‘lost touch with’, just good people who gracefully accept my excuses and my phone/email silence as I struggle to incorporate writing in my already hectic life. I don’t have time to reconnect with these old friends, it seems. I barely have time to maintain the relationships I’ve got with my current friends.

The other night, I got an email from my mom. I think she’s given up calling me, because I almost always cut the conversation short as I move onto the next thing on my to do list or am distracted on the phone as I try to multi-task. The email went something like, “I miss you. We never see each other. Can we get together soon?” Poor mom.

It’s not our friends’ and family’s fault that we’ve got this driving, pressing, aching need to tell the stories that burn inside us. And still, their support so often falls into the category of ‘Please allow me to nearly/partially/completely disappear from your life for large chunks of time while I surrender myself to imaginary people.’

I’m so thankful for my family and friends and the fact that (so far!) they all still love me, even though they are included to varying degrees on the list of things I give up when the book is pushing me hard.