People Think I Am Crazy

At 61 the writer I am

Photo taken by Negative Space from Pexels.

Today I rode my bike hard, to get groceries. A little snow outside, pushing me off the sidewalk and into the traffic — not my usual unless necessary. I consider this part of my job. This physical romp into town, three-and-a-half miles, and back. My job as a writer, that is. Comes with the territory. The fact I no longer have a car because of finances, once it finally died. Giving me wonderful years when it was alive. I like exercising so the biking, while carrying bags on my front and back, is a somewhat welcomed task. I think of folks at the gym pushing a stationary bicycle up a pretend road set with lots of simulated weight. Instead, this is my real life.

I live in a rent and utility trade with an elderly woman. I don’t have a lot of responsibility except to be in the house most of the time, in case she needs something. And a few other projects. This allows me to spend most of my time in my room writing. I am monetarily poor and vulnerable right now. I could get a real job that would allow me to afford rent somewhere, maybe a car, and live a more supported existence. Perhaps. That would come with its bag of irritations as well. But for now, this is sufficing. I am not complaining. Grateful I can manage without familiar luxuries I had been used to most of my life. The freedom to make my own schedule as a writer excites me upon waking in the morning, and going to bed.

People think I am crazy. At 61 existing on the edge by choice . This is who I have become. The writing began when I inherited ample savings after a divorce, and became spoiled affording my own rent, car, food, utilities, and then some. This offered me the opportunity to work all day developing myself as an author and blogger. I moved through writing books and self-publishing. When the savings drained I wondered how I could maintain this full-time artistic life without getting a real job. I wrote on Medium for over two years, daily, pushing out whatever came in order to bring in a bit of cash. And here I am in a strange town (albeit close to some family) away from my best friend and community, carless, with no public transportation, but happy as a clam in my daily routine of being the artist I am.

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Thank you for reading.

With gratitude,

Jill