Tax time. A reminder that it’s been almost a year since I collected a paycheck. Working in Belgium is a complicated prospect for me. The Belgium government seeks to preserve its jobs for its own citizens and so for an expat to get a work permit and a job is a long, drawn out and difficult process. And at the end of that road are Belgian taxes, which I think are the highest in Europe.

I was talking to a fellow American recently about working. She and her husband had put a calculator to it and discovered she would have to earn 2,400 euros in a month before she’d actually take home 200 euros. So there’s not a lot of financial incentive to go through the whole work permit process only to lose most of my income to taxes—and then need a professional accountant to help navigate international tax returns.

Truthfully,  I wasn’t too eager to tie myself down to a job and pay for child care when we moved here. I wanted to be free to travel and explore and take advantage of my husband’s generous vacation days. For the first time, I had the opportunity to do what I’d always talked about doing: creative writing.

But six months after launching my blog, I’m wondering if that’s enough. I started blogging with the notion that I was doing this for myself, but I quickly became addicted to the idea of expanding my audience, finding a niche, delivering something meaningful or fun each day, and eventually generating income from my personal writing.

Earlier this week, I was doing some research for an article I’m writing for Mike on the Bottom and discovered there are currently 28 million bloggers online. GAH! Where do I really think I’m going with this? What do I have to offer and what can I expect to get back? My blog is like a lotto ticket in my pocket—a near impossible dream that I’m gambling on week in and week out.

Sometimes I feel diminished because I’m not pursuing a job or generating any income at home.  It raises my feminist hackles, and then I think I’m being a jerk for not accepting my good fortune. As I approach the end of my first year living abroad, I need to celebrate my freedom instead of indulging needless guilt. I’ve had the luxury of pursuing the creative life here—time to have hobbies, to travel, to write. I can’t let my inner Puritan or FemiNazi continue to pull my loose threads and unravel my satisfaction.

There are ways middle-age feels so liberating—in some respects I have so much confidence and a strong sense of myself. That’s what gave me the courage to leave all that was familiar behind and start over in a new country. And yet there are moments I feel as turbulent and insecure as an adolescent trying to find my place in the world, feelings that are probably exacerbated by the nature of expat life which makes me a perpetual outsider.

Life is GOOD. I sometimes wish I could drift through it with ease and not dissect it on every level.  Y’all probably wish that too.   Well, the joy of the blogosphere is that we’re all writing (and reading) our way to understanding or entertaining ourselves and others. Thanks for sharing the ride--but remember, it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to. Happy February.