I am 46 years old, and I may or may not be coming out of my midlife crisis.
I have 5 never-been-to-school kids from 21 down to 3, a husband and a mother who lives with us. As an introvert, this is challenging for me. My most persistent and besetting sin is the all-too-frequent outward manifestations of the irritability this causes. It would be a sin even if I kept the irritation inside, but at least it wouldn’t affect anyone else.
I am a self-improvement junkie, and I mean the word junkie in the most negative of ways. You might have seen me in that church basement saying, “Hi, my name is Samantha and I am an addict.” Having an addiction to self-improvement means that you are not okay, and you assume no one else thinks you’re okay, which means you’d better change or else (insert bad thing that you assume will happen if you don’t change OR good thing that will happen if you do).
I believe some form of this addiction is inborn as a member of the human race, but some people have it worse because of circumstances and some are better at hiding it. I have the bad circumstances version, and I was good at hiding it for a long time, too. I have been more or less clean for the past month, but the desire to do more, become better, impress someone (ANYONE) with my got-it-togetherness is always there. I don’t know how to stay clean and still do the things I want to do in life. I don’t know how to separate the illness from the simple human desire to make, learn, do or simply be.
I have a lot of alter-egos, but I think the one who is most real is Bohemian Housewife. I think my Inner Bohemian was born from two sources: 1) A few novels I read as a teenager that were told from the perspective of children growing up with parents who were communists or something, always having various radical types coming in for late night political and philosophical discussions. They would smell the cigarettes and the coffee and hear the loud arguments, without understanding much but still being affected. And 2) This line from a Bob Dylan song, “I lived with them on Montague Street, a basement down the stairs. There was music in the cafes at night and revolution in the air.” I think that a lot of my ennui is caused by the fact that the Bohemian is on life support. She may or may not have been bludgeoned by the Housewife with a well-seasoned cast iron pan.
I had what I consider to be a pretty dramatic conversion to Christ 18 years ago. Not quite a Damascus Road experience, but close. There was no church, no preacher, and I had been a loud and proud blasphemer.
Although this site showcases zines and journals (both of which contain writing), I am not brave enough to be a writer. I think it would be much easier to become a skilled (but perhaps shallow) visual artist than to be honest enough to be a good writer.
If you want to know more about me, you can read through my old blog, email me nosy questions at [email protected] or like my Facebook Page. I have an etsy shop where I sell my zines and other things, and although I still don’t “get” them that well, I am also on Twitter @everydaymemoir and Instagram with the same name (minus the @).