Promissory Note to Self

I don't know if you remember this time last year when I admitted I'd been writing all this time on a laptop that was missing several letters of the alphabet and punctuation marks, including the first vowel, and the exclamation point. The latter was no biggie; I don't much care for exclamation points. But having to paste in an 'a,' even though I'd gotten pretty fast at it, was probably not the most efficient way to type.

That was two feature articles and one book deal ago. God knows how many blog posts.

Would you believe I am still using that laptop? Like, right now?

Someone caught me using it the other day, and called me out on it.

"It just seems like there's always something more important to spend the money on," I said weakly.

She wasn't having it. In her best school marm voice, she told me I was to go get a new laptop. Not just any laptop, not the one on sale, or the one that isn't exactly what I want, but will do.

"This is your tool," she said. "You go get the one you really want. "

I looked at her uncertainly. She and I have both survived some lean and scary times in pursuit of authenticity and fulfillment. It's been worth it, but there are places within us both that can throb with fear sometimes like an old war wound.

In response to my last post, some of you shared how hard it is to claim a creative profession in the world with conviction. I grew up in a family where a life in the arts was what was expected, and I want to tell you, it's hard for me too. What does it communicate to my fingertips everytime they have to go the long way around for the vowel I need to use most often? What is the message that is tapped out like Morse code, hundreds of times a day, through the nerves of my hands, into my brain? What does it say my work is worth?

I honestly tried to get my new macbook the very next day. I really did. I wrote the check. Twice, in fact,because the clerk at Best Buy messed up the first transaction, and the automated check clearing service decided a second check in the same amount meant someone had stolen my checkbook, and shut the whole thing down. The people at Best Buy shrugged and asked the next customer to step up to the checkout. I swore I wouldn't spend another dime there.

I know I can order one direct from apple.com, and I tried that, too. But the electronic red flags hadn't cleared yet, so that transaction didn't go through. I didn't exactly think the words, maybe I'm not supposed to have a working 'a' key, but I kind of let it go after that.

That insane surge of activities that come with the dying days of the school year has put me a couple of chapters behind schedule. I woke up this morning determined to make it up. I had to run a snack to my son's class, get groceries, and take the car into the shop (next book deal, I am asking my agent to negotiate a complete halt to spinning of the world on its axis until "The Work" is completed).

I put the car in the garage, ran into the coffee shop across the street, and pulled out my ibook, the usb keyboard and mouse that is my other, bulkier vowel workaround, and saw that I'd forgotten my power adapter. Did I mention that the battery on this computer will keep about a 30 minute charge, tops?

I can't go on like this. Except, I probably can. My friend is on vacation, so I don't have to fear her catching me working on this old clunker and kicking my ass to kingdom come. So I'm letting you catch me.

Believing in ourselves is really hard, isn't it? Even when it looks like it ought to be easy by now. Sometimes it takes a boost, (or a kick in the ass). So here's the deal: I'm going to Best Buy today, to suck it up, and buy a macbook. The macbook. You leave a comment declaring some action you're taking, or need to take, to telegraph the message to your own brain that your dreams are important. Let's all make some kind of a down payment on them today, however small or large.

Because if it's okay for you to say you're worth it, maybe it's okay for me, too.