Lately I've been studying the incredibly useful and yet ridiculous concepts of Microeconomics. Don't ask why... it's part of this new and CRAZY path I'm on. It's part of my "pause"-- my great creative tragedy... blah blah blah.
BUT I've been learning new things, which is always good (especially for someone who suffers from the deadly"I'm sooooo brilliant" disease.)
One of the things I've just learned is the theory of scarcity and choice. These terms are not new to me, of course. I watch the news. I have an advanced degree. But I never really looked past the surface of the terms themselves into the meaning behind them.
In Microeconomics everything comes back to consumer CHOICE. And it's flexible. And it's uncontrollable. Because humans have this thing called FREE WILL, and we always upset the apple cart with our strange consumer behavior.
But the theory is so applicable to my current predicament. Scarcity of resources (Time) and choices on how to spend that resource. "All things constant" or ceteris paribus, I find myself making choices again and again that eek out the writing part of my life. What does this mean?
Well, I suppose an economist would say that I've done some calculating and made a decision based on what will be better for me and my family in the long run.
My theory? I know I'll write. I know that publishing contract is in my future (The mid list women's book club author dream of mine :))
I'm confident about it. SO confident that I'm able to put some of that away while I assist the parts of my life that I'm not so confident about. Like:
Raising my girls
Saving my marriage
and advancing my career in education
No big deal.
I suppose I could have made the other choice. I could have Thrown caution to the wind and let those chips fall where they may... left it all to rot while I pursued my great literary adventure.... But when I calculated the risk, the possible loss, I ran like hell in the other direction. Cost/Profit analysis. Boom there it is.
AND let us not forget. I AM in fact writing. This blog. Papers. Journals. Academic articles. (Yawn)
AND I'm taking notes. Late at night in my mind when the house is quiet and the time is there... Itsy and Elly and Mimi and Fee call to me and tell me where their story ends. Itsy takes out her notepad and scribbles me a message:
"Don't be a fool. Do what you have to do now. We'll be here. We're not going ANYWHERE."
And they all cackle and move slowly back into the recesses of my mind. See... I'll have to finish that book soon, or they'll eat me.