When I was younger, I had a superpower. It’s a power that I believe most kids have, though based on how often I got complimented on it–even by people the same age as me–maybe it’s not so common. From grade school up through high school and even a bit into college, I had the ability to create time out of nothing. No matter how hectic my life got or how much stress school poured on I always had time to do the things I loved.
Like most writers I was (and perhaps to a lesser extent still am) a major bookworm, my average reading speed used to be about a book per week, sometimes a little longer for bigger books and sometimes less than a week when I really got into a book (I started and finished Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince a nearly 700 page book in a single day) and whenever people asked me how I found time to read as much as I did between school, homework, and other every day responsibilities I just told them that I made the time to sit down and read. Simple as that. Because to me it was that simple; if you love doing something and you really want to do it you make the time to do it no matter how crazy life gets. And yet, somewhere along the way I seemed to have lost that gift. Life becomes busier when you’re an adult, but even just two years ago I had time enough to keep up with my college courses and homework and still have time to read (although admittedly less than I used to) and keep up with my favorite shows, and just six months or so ago I made time to get out of my house and go for a walk every day in the midst of searching for a job. Now, I almost feel guilty any time I do take the time to do anything relaxing and I almost never go out for a walk anymore except on weekends.
If it were just things like television and video games or even reading that were falling by the wayside, I probably wouldn’t be making this post, but right now, the responsibilities in my life have a hierarchy with job searching being my highest priority, daily chores and/or errands next on the list followed by this blog, and finally my novel way at the bottom where it hardly ever gets the attention I want to devote to it. In the spirit of the old me, I have carved out time every Wednesday afternoon to go to a local coffee shop for some much-needed alone time in order to sit down and do nothing but write the novel. Still, it’s not nearly enough. True, I could spend time on the weekends but sue me, after a week spent cooped up inside staring at a computer screen, all I want to do on the weekend is get out of the house. So now I find myself looking back on the old me, trying to remember the secret to creating time out of thin air. If I figure it out I’ll be sure to let you know.