I’m kinda sorta a control freak. Not a micro-manager nor particularly tidy, but I stay on top of details when its called for.
To my greatest surprise, the thing that forced me to take several steps back was the birth of my child. When I needed control most (or so I believed), I had to let go of it. Kids are autonomous beings, with their own inner drive and a spirit that gurgles out of them as soon as they emerge from the womb. I’ve learned the more I try to control, the more my baby slips away. The more I try to control, the less I like myself.
So I’ve had to get used to giving up control and yes, feeling helpless. True helplessness is watching your child leave the safety of home, get on the bus and drive away. I watch as I move from the center of her life to its periphery. As it should be. It hurts like hell. Because I have no control, just faith that I taught her well, that she can handle what life throws at her. Kinda sorta. Like us all.
I think that’s why I write stories. I can figure out what happens to that bus as it passes from my view.
If I don’t like it, I can write another story. Kinda sorta. Characters also have their own personalities too.