Mom is Just a Nickname

“Crunchy” is a term that I’ve aspired to. The truth is that I’m not a very good environmentalist. I’m not very “crunchy” though many of my mama friends are. I’d like to be more environmentally friendly but I’ve never taken the time to do it, whole heartedly. It is however a cause I believe in and want to support.

I’ve done things like building and posting birdhouses for blue birds (because man has interfered with their natural nesting grounds). I’ve cloth diapered at least one of my kids. I opt for green cleaners. I recycle (both by sending recycleables in to facilities and by re-using what I can at home). I use cloth napkins at my dinner table rather than paper napkins. I use cloth towels whenever possible rather than paper towels.

The disposability of our world today makes me sick to my stomach if I think about it too much. I think of how our ancestors were so much more in tune with the world around them, and they had to put so much more thought and effort into their day to day lives. It almost seems a more honest way of living. Sure, I probably have some parts of it romanticized, although I try to be realistic about it. The fact of the matter is that my grandparents and great grandparents, and even my parents, were or are better equipped to live without all of the modern conveniences we have today. I envy them that ability and I know I should make a greater effort to learn.

Unfortunately, I do have a way of burying my head in the sand and ignoring the problem. Like many people, I still cling to the belief that it’s someone else’s problem, even though I know better. What is that song my daughter likes to sing? Oh yeah, “One small voice can teach the world to sing.” Rather goes with the story of the starfish that I’ve always liked.

So, for many reasons, I need to remove my head from the sand and figure out ways to be more environmentally friendly. Give me some suggestions! What do you do to help the environment? Have you gone green?

I have this pattern in my life: I get very excited about a hobby, a project, a new career goal, etc. I research it, I get very involved in it to the point my family starts to wonder when I’m returning to them. If reaching the goals I’ve set starts to seem to difficult for whatever the reason, I back off the interest and find something new.

I find this frustrating. I envy the people who have a calling in their life. My mom knew from a young age that she wanted to be a nurse, for example. She pursued it and has stuck with it through the years. When I went through the phase of wanting to be a nurse she cautioned me that it was a profession that was most satisfying for those who had been called to it. She was wondering if I had felt that calling. I don’t think I had. I was searching for a way to do something with my life with would both honor Sullivan’s memory and also put to use the many things I’d learned to do throughout his life. I failed my nursing assistant test on a technicality; I made a stupid mistake that automatically failed me. I never retook the test. The idea of pursuing a Nursing career fell to the wayside.

Now I’m looking at writing. As you can see from the frequency of my posts, I have been meeting my personal goal of at least one post a day. I haven’t tried to post about any one thing, haven’t found my “platform” at this point. I’ve just been finding a topic that interests me and writing about it. I enjoy this kind of writing, just as I’ve enjoyed putting together the couple of articles I’ve tried my hand at so far. Fiction writing appeals to me too. I keep remembering the exercises we used to do in my creative writing class. I had a lot of fun doing them and was always so pleased with my work when it was all done.

I’m finding the idea of pleasing editors, pleasing readers, doing research, doing interviews….well, it’s all overwhelming to me. I start to doubt whether I have what it takes to make a living as a writer (please note: I’m not even asking to be famous or highly successful…just to make a living. Just to contribute to my family’s income.)

I wonder why I always get scared off of my dreams and goals when the going gets rough? Why don’t I fight it out and reach for them? Will I fight it out and become a writer? I wish I knew. I wish I knew that this wasn’t just a passing fad, a whimsy that will fly away when it no longer holds my attention. Did I become flighty and unreliable somewhere along the way?

I wonder what I’ll be when I grow up?