Dear Adulthood,

Let's make a compromise.

This was originally written on my blogspot (yes, that dates it!) two days before my thirty-eighth birthday. It was part of a series of letters to ideas/objects that I’d like to revive in some way. This week, I’m trying to envision 2026 for Make Time, especially. I have the idea that I’d like to bring some sustainable structure to my posts, but I haven’t yet outlined that. Including these letters is a part of that. I’d love to hear any ideas you have about what would be useful/fun around the topic I try to explore here, making time for our creative work, no matter what. Right now, I’m thinking a monthly newsletter as posts, then more brief notes along the way. I hope you enjoy the letter. I made a few tweaks, but mostly left it in the voice of my thirty-seven going on thirty-eight year old self. It goes to show you how this is a life-long practice, not a 10-week transformation plan. It’s a lifestyle to last a lifetime.

Dear Adulthood,

Why did I not hold you off a while longer?

I used to skip classes to spend hours jotting down ideas in notebooks—black coffee and a toasted bagel to fuel my inspiration. I would stare out windows at lovers walking down the street and at old ladies in their raincoats on the transit bus that I took home for one shiny quarter. I would write while listening to music and daydream for hours.
"What will you do?" They asked.
"I'll write," I answered.
"What if your writing isn't any good?" They replied.
"I'll write better," I stood my ground.
"Will you go to college?" They added.
"Why?" I asked.
Impassioned, impertinent, rebellious, alone against the world: Ah, that was me!

Eight years of college. Twelve years as a high school teacher. Fourteen years as a wife and mother. I learned to sacrifice writing for dollars and gold stars.

What if I let the house go? What if I stopped putting things back in their place? Started coming to work unprepared?
What if I got fired? If all I had to do was pen these lines?
I tell myself—being adult as I am—I don't deserve to write at all until I've done my duty.
What you "do" if the first thing we ask a person we've just met.
I'm a teacher.
I'm a mother.
More meekly, I'm a writer.
When I tell people that, they want to know if I've been published and whether I've written any books.

Adulthood,
These responsibilities are endless.
What if I refused? Made unreasonable demands? Used my charm to get my way?
What if I stopped cooking dinner? What if I really wrote every day? Really put in the time and let the muse take me, even if it meant I wasn't pulling my weight, wasn't being my best in every way? Meant I missed appointments and forgot to pay my bills?
What if I lost track of time?

Adulthood,
You tell me I must care, I must serve. I must work hard even if the reward is merely the satisfaction of having done my best work. I should put others before myself. I should volunteer more. Exercise more. Keep my house cleaner. Be a better parent. Stay in touch with old friends and make new ones if I can. Organize all the clutter. Be generous to my lover. Have a solution for every problem.

Adulthood,

Let’s make a compromise, draw up some more reasonable terms.

I also work as a writing coach and love helping writers gain confidence, set goals, and develop their work. I was a writer first, but I’ve been teaching for over twenty-five years. Coaching weaves those two skill sets in a way that I love, love, love. I work with writers locally and over Zoom. For more information on coaching, email me at eatyourwords.lizshine@gmail.com or see my website.

You can see my books here and read some of my short works here.

Looking for any of the books I’ve mentioned here? Order through my Bookshop.org affiliate page to support me and my local bookstore!