|me, a few days ago or so...|
I turned fifty in July.
I keep saying (and typing) the word, because i don't really believe it. Otherwise, I'd probably be less quick to admit it.
I think 50, and I think: that is simply UNFATHOMABLE.
Then the line from Princess Bride pops in my head:
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
So, here I am. Fifty. Well, actually, more than three months in.
I've done a lot in the past ten years I never thought in a million years I might do. Actually succeed at. I didn't even imagine a few...
- Swam a 10K plus (7+ miles) in the open water (probably clocking close to 200 miles of open water swimming each season for the past several years);
- Swam in waters as cold as 37 degrees;
- Secured three agents, two book deals, and have written eight manuscripts;
- Got two manuscripts published -- The Pull of Gravity and The Summer of Letting Go -- by two of the most prestigious (or at least literary) publishing houses in history: Algonquin and fsg; and
- Was well-reviewed in the Sunday New York Times Book Review (say, what?)
Still, there are many days I feel like an utter slacker. Like I'm wasting time and I'm going to have a thousand regrets... Like the clock is ticking and there's so much I want to do. . .
- get another (effing) YA ms published (for Pete's sake);
- Publish my second piece of unpublished women's fiction, THE SWIMMING SEASON, if I can't get a traditional publisher to take it by year's end, with a hybrid or curated press... big brave move I'm not sure I'm ready for...
- write a picture book;
- write a play;
- do more yoga;
- read more;
- swim from Long Island to Connecticut (oh, come on, Annmarie, you know you want to);
- contribute more charitably/be involved/try to make a difference in our world.
Some days, I'm full of productivity. Other's I'm a total slug. I do a lot of starting and stopping, too much starting and stopping these days. The writing, especially, is hard. So much easier to veg out in front of The Voice, or facebook when the going gets tough, and the words aren't flowing, and the water is freaking cold.
But I'm fifty. And I have a whole lot I still want to do.