When I reflect on my regrets as a writer, it's the small sacrifices and compromises I have made, that come to mind. We beg, borrow and steal our writing time, the chance to sit uninterrupted for hours is not something most of us take for granted. You have to miss out on things, and we're willing to, but sometimes I've made mistakes. Here are some:
1. We were living in Zermatt, a mountain village in Switzerland. It was the summer of 1999, there were wild flowers all over the mountainside, mother and baby deer grazing on dewy grass outside my window, and a perfect blue sky above the white-crested majestic Mattherhorn. My boyfriend (now husband) was going caving with a group of our friends. This involved climbing down into caves, and wandering through caverns and creeks. We were all in our twenties, we'd worked the winter ski season together, and were having a beautiful summer of friendship and fun in the idyllic tiny village. On that day, it was my one day off from being a nanny. I chose to stay in our studio apartment and work on a novel that would never see the light of day. I still think about that decision. I wish I went caving.
2. Once I didn't go to the funeral of a person who was not close to me, but was close to someone I know, because I was writing. Again, it was my one writing day and my kids were babies and I had organised care for them for a few hours. I regret my choice for many reasons. At the least, it would have been an interesting way to spend the day - funerals are great material for novelists. But mostly, I regret not being a better friend. At the time, I felt like I had no time to write, and the compulsion to lock myself in a room and write for those few hours was stronger than my integrity as a friend. I regret that.
3. I spend so much time alone, and don't invest a lot of time in my friendships, and I wonder if there will come a day when I don't have any friends left, except a few stragglers who, like me, have spent most of their lives doing something insular. I don't say that to feel sorry for myself, but there is a real chance. The question is, will a life of interiority and solitariness, of spending most time alone reading and writing, be worth it. The answer is, I don't know.
There are lots of scenarios like these in my life. Some I don't regret, such as not going to parties because I want to use the weekend to write, or not going away on girls weekends because I'd prefer to have a solo weekend and write. It's hard to find the time, and justifiy the time, to be a writer. My advice for emerging writers is to never put your writing before your family and loved ones. Always put precious people first. You can think about your writing while you're with them, and then scribble it down in stolen moments later. The challenge is getting the balance right. For me, the balance is a work in progress.
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