Is it worth it after all?

Burgher of Calais, sculpture by Auguste Rodin located at Stanford University

I'm off for a couple weeks to spend time with my older sister who was given a prognosis of five years a year ago. I spent no time with my dad before he died at the age of 72 and I'm not going to let that happen with my sister. I still live with deep remorse and regret for letting that precious time I should have given him slip inexorably and irretrievably away. I'd give anything to have it back and I can't do it again to her.

Which leaves me with a "Do I or don't I" dilemma. Do I take my laptop along and make sure I'm continually posting comments for a nonexistent audience to read--or not read? Only because some AI agent is reminding me to do so? Is hoping beyond my wildest dreams my words catch someone's attention and spark a monetary interest in my endeavors worth the time I'd be taking away from my sister?

I realized yesterday that I've been spending more time juggling posts between Facebook, Wix and Substack than I have actually doing the work I most love--writing my novels. I eschewed joining Instagram and TikTok and BlueSky for the reason that I would inevitably feel utterly overwhelmed by the effort it appears to take to entice a readership. Back in the day, novelists wrote and publishers did all the heavy lifting to sell their books. And I wouldn't be surprised if those novelists who were lucky enough to make that lucrative connection constituted at most 10% of all the actual novelists in the world with a similar dream.

I'm an INFJ (according to Briggs-Meyers) by nature, extremely private and too idealistic for my own good. I squirm every time I click the "Publish" button because I know I'm putting out there in the ether world my highly unrealistic but steadfastly hopeful ideas and dreams for anyone--or more likely no one--to appreciate. I'd really rather be in my quiet little otherworld where people care deeply for each other in a way that eludes me (at the very least) in the real world.

So, I'm going on a short sabbatical to ponder what I most value with the time I have left and what I shall do with that time to be at peace with what I most value. To ponder whether or not stripping naked in the middle of a crowd would give me any satisfaction. Because that's essentially what I'm doing. At this point in my life, I'm pretty sure I won't get noticed for my inner beauty or intellect. Certainly not applauded, because it ain't on the outside.

Because of that INFJ personality, I'm shy and love my privacy. I feel good in my skin and savor my principles. I'm too old to let others trample on what is important to me. That's why I left my husband. My novels speak my ultimate truth, even in all their unabashed eroticism. It's my legacy to the great unknown, my contribution to the mysterious glory of the universe. That's really all that matters in the big scheme of things.

I wish all who feel as I do well. May you too reach the point where you don't care what others think of you. Just do or write what makes you happy. Find your zen place.

I might be back in a few weeks. I might not. I'm counting on it not making a difference. ;o)