A small truth gently unfolded itself very quietly last night.

I have been working on a book-length memoir for a few years, and it is close to finished. It needs one more good edit, maybe some beta readers, and another edit before I either try to get it published or create a Substack.  But.

But . . . but . . . but . . .

There is no way that I am going to get it finished. Not right now, not before the end of the year, or before my January birthday—both goals. Maybe I will never finish it. This is an awful truth. Maybe everyone else sees it, has seen it for a long time, and is rolling their eyes or mentally saying, “duh!” Okay, but not me. I am either that eternal optimist or someone who refuses to look reality in the face.

Time that I put aside to write gets eaten up by the dozen or so things that need to get done before I sit down to write, and there is always another big, huge, gigantic Julia project that needs time and concentration to get done. The plate is always too full.

I took a break from intense Julia projects in late spring after Julia began at The Price Center, her day program. She reminds me often that she is not going to spend the rest of her life there, but I feel she is settled for now.

This summer I painted a cabinet, did a little gardening, put up a website for the class I’m teaching at HILR, and did a bit of memoir editing.  My list of household tasks got shorter.  I joined a new communications committee at church and re-joined choir. I imagined getting the last, big edit done by year’s end while engaging in all the rest.

However, the next big, huge, gigantic Julia project that requires time and concentration is Julia’s future housing—finding her a home and the services she needs to live in that home. Since spring, I’ve dipped a few toes into what I need to know, and last week, I started seriously working on it. 

I am overwhelmed by the scope of the work. I am taking a 20-hour workshop spread over 6 Saturdays, going to 3 or 4 Zoom meetings a month, and spending one day a week researching. This kind of time and effort puts us on a 5-year timeline.  The work will change during that time—not as much researching and learning, more finding people, places, and services—but will probably not diminish. 

I am sitting here tonight taking it all in. I kind of want to say, I didn’t sign up for all of this, but of course, parents never know what they are signing up for. Make plans, and the gods laugh. I thought I could manage it all, find time and energy and determination and will, but days are only 24 hours long, and an aging mother only has so much energy. 

So, do I admit defeat? Admit that I will never publish a book-length anything? Strike this goal from my list? Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know. 

Time for bed.  I teach my first writing workshop at HILR tomorrow.