A Paper-Blossom-Packed Garden

On Ward Six (a blog I love and have learned lots from, by the way), a discussion started under a post called "How Much of Your Life Should Writing Take Up?" about the work/family balance.

I made the comment:
As the daughter of artists who put family first, I say: screw that! Selfishness is a way of looking out for oneself-- so other people won't have to. I'd give anything for my mother and father to have put me second more often and spent more time and energy pursuing their dreams, because now they’re bitter, dissatisfied, and deeply unhappy—I don’t want the responsibility of acting as “proof” that their lives have been meaningful, and the large-scale talent squandering is shameful. Personally, I believe you’re fooling yourself if you think making your domestic life a priority over the health of your soul is best for anybody in the long run.

Selfishness is not the same as self-indulgence.

But I've been thinking about my comment, and I'm sorry if I sounded harsh or judgmental—

It’s not that I think a domestic or private life is impossible to maintain as an artist or writer. God forbid writers should have to give up love as well as money in order to be “successful.”

But I've heard that women (in general) have been trained for a long time to believe that our time is not our own-- that we owe time to whoever seems to need it. That includes kids and husbands, of course, but also friends, parents, and anybody who needs help. Apparently, it’s all part of the same "domestic sphere"/"angel in the house" job requirements that have conspired to make a lot of women wary of shouting opinions. The push to volunteer is a legacy of that, apparently, as well as being “super mom.” With co-parenting and greater domestic equality, I think a lot of men are being pressed in the same way.

I think that giving too much energy and time to friends and family is just as self-indulgent as giving too much time to naval gazing or wandering Paris or [insert writer-stereotype]. I think selfishness is necessary sometimes, because if you are never selfish, it only means you’re heaving the burden of your happiness and health onto somebody else.

That person doesn’t need the responsibility, and you don’t need them imposing their views and desires onto you. I think making sure you are as fulfilled as possible in your career is one way of taking the burden of your happiness off of others, and is not self-indulgent-- I think it's, in fact, the most responsible thing you can do. That doesn’t mean you have to scribble away all the time, but it does mean you have to take charge of your own writer-ly destiny, and do what you can to cultivate your own garden.

This topic is personal to me, because when I was focused on "domestic bliss" and "security" and blah blah (at twenty-one and with no kids, thank God), I was absolutely miserable. Not because I'm not a nest-er and not because anyone was oppressing me and not because my boyfriend demanded I be barefoot and pregnant. I let everything besides writing take over my life it because cooking and cleaning and holiday-decorating and planning a life of financial ease and frequent, relatively loving sex was a lot easier than being a writer, and I was scared.

I lost my nerve. I tried to adopt a new self-- one that would have an easier time of it, or so it would seem.

Now, obviously, a lot of people can have kids and husbands and jobs and volunteer work and disabilities and second jobs and WHATEVER and still write. I can't. I can't even work a full-time office job and write.

So I quit. The man and I broke up. I moved someplace cheaper. Got a job with more flexible hours and a more social environment (so I'd be comfortable working alone at during the evenings). I did everything possible to put writing at the center of my life, and stuck around people who understood that. It hasn't been easy financially *or* socially, but it's also been the one thing I *don't* regret, and I've seen the subsequent improvement in my stories and novels.

I'm not saying everyone needs to drop out and tune in, I'm just saying: you can't deny who you are, even if it's inconvenient to be that person. And especially when it comes to women, and *most especially* when it comes to domestic life, it seems like the entire world assumes that a person's writing should play second-fiddle... or third-, or fourth-... to other people's, or material, needs. But someone else *can* do all the other things: someone else *can* keep the house clean, someone else *can* run the errands, someone else *can* take care of the kids, and someone else *can* even make the money-- maybe not as well, and maybe not as happily, and maybe not even indefinitely-- but it's possible for other people to do these things for you. But nobody else can take care of your soul.

At least for me, that was a sad but necessary revelation. I'm proud of myself for taking responsibility, even if it looks like selfishness. My point was to reassure anyone else struggling with supporting others as well as her/himself that it's NOT self-indulgent to look after yourself (including your non-material needs). Selfishness and responsibility are inter-changeable at times-- and creating art is one of those times.