Writing Prompt: How Are You?

Someone asks me how I am, and I say, “good.” Every one says the same thing or a variation of the same thing: “fine,” “well,” “great,” “okay,” any word that has one syllable and gets the job done quick. No one REALLY wants to know how you are. What they want to know is that you are good. They might not even want to know if you’re great, because then that might make them feel a little self-conscious. Why aren’t *they* great? Why are they only good? No, the answer everyone wants to hear when they ask how you are is that you are good.

But how am I…really?

I am ambitious. This is a new year. The clock has started over. The slate is clean. I can make anything happen. I can finish my book. I can restart a healthy lifestyle. I can make time for the things that are good for me and the things I’m passionate about.

I am overwhelmed. There aren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything I want to, especially with a shadow in the shape of a toddler, holding her arms up to me every five minutes, shrieking to be held.

I am satisfied. I have a part-time job. It’s the perfect job for me, it’s right down the road, and I get to spend just the right amount of time with my daughter–a lot, but not too much.

I am embarrassed. When someone ask me what I do, I confess I work at the local library, counting books, putting them back on the shelf–work an intelligent monkey or at least an ambitious high schooler could do, not the usual work of someone with a Master’s level of education.

I am comfortable. I love my house. I love my neighborhood. I love my city. There is no where in the world I would rather be.

I am restless. I want more of a connection with my family. I want to be a part of my niece’s and nephew’s lives. I want my daughter to have people around that she can vent to when her parents are driving her nuts, people who will understand because I drive them nuts, too.

I am confident. I am a skilled writer. I am a knowledgable parent. I am an intelligent woman.

I am frightened. Every day, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

*If someone asked you how you are, and you were to answer back authentically and honestly, what might you say? Get out your timer and write.*