Never Too Late

However much I proclaim that I write for myself, the truth is that it feels great when people read and acknowledge what I write. There are a few who call regularly to discuss my latest post and some who do it occasionally. Some say good things about my writing, some give me ideas and then there are those who admonish me for my content. A few of them also insist that I should seriously consider writing a book. It is really kind of them to think so, I however, do not see it happening. I do not have the knowledge, skill or attitude that is needed to write a book. 

Forget about books, as of now, I struggle to keep this blog running. It takes hours for me to put a post together and by the time its done, I am so exhausted that I often end up deleting it -- obviously in error. The other day I accidentally deleted something which I had laboriously written over two days. I wanted to kill myself and I did -- by redoing the entire thing the same night. 

Anyway, one such call came last evening from my newly married and very lovely sister in law. She sounded upset and apologetic. On asking her why she sounded that way, she confided that she felt miserable for not being able to help me in anyway. 'But what help do I need?' I asked. Turned out that she had just finished reading my last post, A Dream and A Reality and felt sorry for me. It took fifteen minutes for her to be convinced that I was fine and although what I had written was true, it did not mean that I was unhappy or in need of any help. 

In fact, just before her call, an old friend had called and had commented on how she has been noticing a stark difference in me, and that she's not seen me so happy, carefree and liberated in years, may be since College. I tend to disagree with her usually, but I think she was right about this. After many years even I see myself really happy and I owe my current state of mind to two things -- love and writing.

Love, because I have a lot of it around me. There are quite a few people who can not function without me, who need me -- all the time. That of course makes me feel important and happy. Then there is writing. I write when I am lonely, I write when I am pensive, and I write to express what I otherwise cannot. I do not write for anyone but myself. It helps me let go, if people like it -- great, if they do not -- well, I still would.

At times I do feel like life's come a full circle. I seem to be back to where I started from, twelve years ago. Back then, I lived with parents whose permission had to be sought for almost everything, now I have children whose permission I have to seek. Then, I had the time and the energy but no money to do new things, now also, I have the time and inclination to do many things but hardly any money. Then, I had a handful of friends who were my emotional anchors, I still have a handful of them -- most of whom are the same. Back then I had the fire in me to do something with my life, to be independent, to have my own identity and now, once again, that fire seems to have been rekindled -- after a long hiatus.

There is one huge difference though, I could do a lot with my life then while I am not sure if I can do anything with it anymore. After all, I am already thirty four, the best years of my career are behind me and it is too late to begin afresh. Then again, if I look at it differently I still have at least fifteen years of productivity left in me. I have only just begun to get comfortable with myself and be proud of who I am. So it might not be a bad idea to consider starting afresh and may be write a book even. I know someone who will say, "Never too late."