How Michi Got Her Mojo Back

Disclaimer: I also have a 15-pound black cat named Mojo, who looks tough but is afraid of his own shadow - and most other things on the planet. This post is not about him.

This post is about me - and yet it isn't.

Let's be honest, shall we? I've been dragging my ass lately - mostly just getting by. I haven't had much enthusiasm for writing, which is odd, because I generally love to write. It's what I do. It's like breathing - how could I not do it? And, as Bill Engvall would say, "I ain't trained to do nuthin' else."

But the high-paying clients come and go, and I'm often reduced to writing for content sites - some of which I really enjoy and some I would rather not deal with - and few that pay well. My books have not yet sold, despite literary representation. I realize the economy is not the best, but I still find it discouraging. I apply for job after job, but there are so many others competing - and it's difficult to get much that pays well, especially when you've been a ghostwriter for so long and don't have a lot with your name on it. 

The good news, for me, is that I had an epiphany yesterday. I watched my daughter, who is 17, sit for hours and quietly make jewelry and crafts. Beautiful things that I wouldn't have the skill or patience for. She's planning on starting a business. She can't get a PayPal account, an Etsy account, or an Ebay account - she's not old enough.

But she's patiently making these things anyway, along with her duct tape flowers, so she'll have inventory on her 18th birthday.

Even though she was sick and not feeling well she sat there hour after hour, clearly miserable, with tears running down her face, her stomach in knots, and made these beautiful creations - working slowly and putting love and care into each one. She won't see any hope of a return from these for at least another four months, but it's ok with her. This idea matters. She sees the value in it - and she doesn't give up just because she's not getting rich or things aren't going quite the way she'd hoped.

And I'm supposed to be the strong one!

If she can sit through her pain and her sickness and her panic attacks and her struggles with health and life and humanity in general and make these beautiful creations in spite of all that, I can get over what I think I deserve and where I think I should be by now and what I think the world owes me and get back to work.