Real life is full of pain. And tears. Of joy. And frustration. It's messy. We are human. Imperfect and flawed (deeply at times).
Marketing is slick. Shiny. Everyone is always good looking and happy.
Last week, I posted about feeling like I was on the verge of things really taking off. That was the truth- especially that day. I was practically bursting with excitement about some of the things that are happening. And there is this energy around what I am doing that is loaded with anticipation and excitement.
No matter my level of exhaustion, on the nights when my husband comes home and I leave to go work at 6pm, I am excited. Rarin' to go. And when I get home after 10pm, there are so many nights when I can't sleep because I am completely amped. Buzzing with creative energy.
Working as an illustrator (and a writer) is my dream. It feels right deep down in my bones.
But this afternoon I sit, feeling less a dreamer and more a realist. I'm not making enough money right now for this to be viable. My very expensive laptop is on it's last legs. The battery is shot. The screen is going. My keyboard doesn't work, so I have to plug another one in (this is especially convenient when I'm working at a coffee shop, which is more often than not these days). I will use this machine for as long as I can, but it threatens to quit on me on a weekly basis.
And we need a new car. And health insurance. Do you know how much insurance costs in a household where everyone is self employed? It's outrageous. Like a second mortgage.
I can spin what I have going on to radiate success. Some days I am. But I think what is more important than slick and shiny is truth.
We are all deep in it, trying to make things happen amid the reality of modern life. Admitting that things are less than perfect is unnerving. And it's risky- baring my soul to the world. It makes me vulnerable.
It also makes me human.