I don’t get paid for caring for my family and I get paid very, VERY little for my writing. I just earned two figures from a short story I sold. Yeah, that’s right. I might be able to indulge in a haircut. Don’t be jealous.
I won’t go into what the hourly wage would. Let’s just say, right now I’d be thrilled to earn minimum wage.
While I know that just because an endeavour doesn’t pay money doesn’t mean it’s worthless, it can feel worthless especially considering the need to pay mortgage payments, buy food, and having a child dangerously close to requiring post-secondary education.
March 2014 has been a deadline for me. This is the month I have to apply for my medical radiology program and I have to decide if I’m still going through with it. Completing this program is almost a guarantee of a pay check—actual money. Gasp. But, I’ve lost my zeal for it. I know I could do it and do it well. But, the writing is a siren singing my name.
I’m reminded of the movie, The Never Ending Story. The boy is told to stop dreaming and get his feet on the ground. That’s what I feel I’m being told, not by any person in my life, but by my own sense of responsibility. I’m torn in two: the sky or the ground. The sky seems a lot more appealing.
Right now, I’m stuck. I don’t know quite what to do, so I’m praying and waiting a little longer. And wondering, if writing is my path, how to get over the feelings of worthlessness that come with not being able to contribute financially to my family. Maybe that’s my biggest hurdle—not which path, I think I may know that already, but how to feel valuable in the midst of it.