I didn’t have fun for five years.
In my early 30s, I was building a writing and editing business, doggedly pushing myself to write fiction, and determined to build a real estate business for passive income.
These were serious goals, and I was prepared to dedicate all my energy to them. Added to that, I was with a man who didn’t believe in leisure time. He wouldn’t go to the beach for a day—or a bed-and-breakfast for the weekend—but he would fly across the country for self-growth workshops and real estate seminars.https://creativewitchery.net/2016/11/how-harry-potter-helped-me-ditch-my-workaholism-and-start-playing/?preview=true
I didn’t mind. My life had always centered on work. College at Princeton, grad school at Columbia, building a writing career and a comfortable life as a freelance writer… I’d pursued my goals with a fierce, unbending work ethic. And in my early 30s, I was even more ready to put aside “childish” fun and do the “adult” work of making my dreams come true.
When the relationship ended after five years, it was winter. (more)
originally published in The Huffington Post
