Friday, September 21, 2007

Stretching my comfort zone

Earlier today I met with the editor of a soon-to-be-published magazine. It took a lot of self-talk to get me to the point where I agreed to her third request to meet with me.

After our meeting, my husband asked me if I told her that I was a recluse.

I was stomped. He looked at me and said, “But that’s what you are.” My daughter, who was sitting nearby, uttered, “Mummy, you are more like a hermit.”

I laughed off their comments. But later as we drove home, I thought about what they said, and obviously believed.

Am I really a recluse, a borderline hermit? Maybe I am.

Unless it is a shopping trip to the mall or PriceSmart, I hate to have to leave the house. In trying to understand the reason why, I realized how much of a psychological issue it was. Before I retired from my job just over a year ago, I hated getting up everyday and leaving my home to go to work. The thirteen plus hours I spent away from my home and my family really ate me up inside. I hated it with a passion. No longer working as an employee all I want to do is be at home.

All my working life, I looked forward to the time when apart from writing I could also be a fulltime homemaker and devote my time to keeping my home; cooking, cleaning, washing, and doing all the other usual necessary household chores and decorating, which is my second passion.

You might think that somewhere along the line of my thirty-two-year employment career, the desire would have waned and lost its luster. Never, not one day, not even for a second.

My co-workers who knew of my desire thought I was the strangest person ever – a real nut. There were times when even I, thought I had to be a nut. Yet, that never altered what my heart yearned for.

That is one of the reasons I feel that I was destined to be a writer. A writer is very often portrayed as a recluse, silent and content in aloneness. Without a doubt, everyone who knows me will attest to the fact that these words describe me to a “T”. Honestly, I do admit that it’s me, all me.

Anyway, meeting the editor today forced me to not only stretch me comfort zone but to step out of it for a couple of hours. It gave me the opportunity to buy another handbag and a couple of kitchen gadgets – two of my obsessions.

Stretching my comfort zone is not such a bad idea especially when I can pair it with an activity I enjoy or indulge in one of my little idiosyncrasies. Maybe the next time an editor wants to meet with me, I won't waste time fretting but immediately agree to a meeting in order to cement a writing deal. Then I can rush off after to buy shoes, handbags or another unnecessary kitchen gadget.

Hey editors, I am a fulltime freelance feature writer and columnist, living in Trinidad. My writing career began in 1988 and my work has been published both in print and online. I’m meticulous about staying within your required word count and meeting deadlines.


Anonymous said...

A classic introvert..that's what you are...energized by solitude, time alone with God...whereas extroverts are energized by being around people constantly...that would drain you..'cause that's not the way you were wired by your Creator...and He proclaimed it "Good!"

Cheryl Wright - said...

"Energized by solitude" that's me. Yes, yes, yes - that is so me.

A couple of people, I can deal with that. Too many people around, in my space, for too long, drains me, sometimes to the point of frustration and tears. Can you imagine?

If I did not believe that God created me like this for a purpose, I'd despair when people misunderstand and dismiss my preference for time, space, silence, stillness and aloneness.

Thank you Anonymous, for understanding and taking the time to tell me so.

Sita said...

Excuse me...I am not Anonymous...I am Other--yuh childhood friend who is very amused that you would thus address fact, please address me as Chuckling from now on..because I cannot stop at the moment..later, Cheryl..mih introvert soul sister...

Cheryl Wright - said...

Well, well, well, if it ain't Chuckling. Girl is that really you? I thought it was but din't want to be too presumptious, and go writing all kindsof stuff to anonymous who might really be anonymous.

But those words, that sense I got that this anonymous really knows me - came through cyber space and reeked of you my chuckling friend.

Only you yes, only you.

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