Hyacinths to feed the soul (The writing life is all about priorities)

If thou of fortune be bereft,
And in thy store there be but left,
Two loaves, sell one, and with the dole,
Buy Hyacinths to feed thy soul.
~Muslih-uddin Sadi

With two kids in college and the economy what it is, Gary and I are on credit card lock-down. No non-biz expenditures, and we've been good about it, but today is my birthday, and I refuse to give up my long-standing birthday tradition: I sent my mom flowers. It's a priority that might not pass the Suze Orman smell test, but I have never felt a twinge about it. There were times in my rock 'n' roll youth that I had to hock my guitar or take an odd job I'd rather not talk about in order to scrape up enough to order my mom's birthday bouquet, but that actually made it more fun because it reminded me how important it is and how lucky I am to have been born to two unbelievably talented, intelligent, loving, courageous people. I was introduced early to life outside the box, and witnessing the way my parents have lived their lives taught me a lot about priorities. Family, faith, adventure and art rank high. Money, caution, and status -- not s'much.

Setting priorities is one of the great ongoing challenges of the writing life. Weighting ideas. Is this a project I want to take on? Managing time. How should I spend the next 45 minutes of my work day? The next 45 days? The coming year? I'm 47 today, and I'm not complaining. Not for a free boob job and a bag of gold bullion would I go back to my 20s. But I do feel the clock ticking on my career. I came to this calling fairly late, and there's a lot I want to do. The after-effects of chemo have shortened my life expectancy a bit, but that doesn't mean I expect any less from life -- today, this week, this year. And I'm not talking about money or gigs, I'm talking about happiness.

If joy is not part of your business plan, you seriously need to think about your priorities. It's comfortable to be lazy, but "comfort" and "joy" coexist only in the chorus of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen"; everywhere else, joy requires challenge, sacrifice, effort, doubt, and industriousness. Sometimes the reward is a book contract. Sometimes it's a bouquet of soul-feeding flowers.