tjlandry

I once heard that disorganization was a sign of a creative person. I let that be my excuse for a long time. I’m too artistic to put all my shoes in the closet! or I’m so good at crafts that I’ll never have a clean car! Hey, it didn’t have to make sense. Turns out, creativity is not my issue. I have finally realized that I am too cowardly which makes me indecisive about most everything, including where to put stuff. I’m organized when I work, and I’m great at cleaning other people’s houses. When it comes to my house, I just don’t know where to put anything. All the clutter is getting to me and stealing my postive energy. It’s got to go!

I have a huge hangup when it comes to writing a book. I have had stories in my head for so long, and yet I can’t ever get beyond writing the first few pages. I think the frustration lies in that great expectation that goes with writing. It’s hard for people to accept that any writing could conceivably be just to do it. There always seems to be attached a need to “make it big”, as though I might be the next bestselling author. It makes me feel ashamed, like I’m a pathetic waitress hoping to be the next “it” girl. I want to for once just put it all on paper and get it over with. I’d never have to make a nickel from it!

My dad was a ship captain who traveled the world. What started as a dream for a small town boy back in Tromso, Norway became his reality once he was barely a man. Dad saw it all, and it made him the man he was. As his daughter, I feel like I should keep that dream (or reality) alive. I feel I need to maintain that relationship with the world, that appreciation for the many great people and places out there. Instead, I’ve never even gone on a real vacation.