When I was young, I kept a journal.
This was my safe place to escape from the world and get deep into the art of self-analysis.
I wrote about everything. At the beginning it was trivialities; which boy was cutest, what I wore to school.
In my teenage years, I wrote about family fights, nights out drinking in the park and other general hooliganisms.
|Or many worlds?|
The bottom line for me, is that writing is my main source of therapy.
Every major obstacle I have overcome in my life has been written about from every imaginable angle.
In a way, it's like a puzzle.
I write out different feelings, different perspectives, until something fits and I see the big picture.
Perspectives and feelings change, too, which is part of the beauty of writing.
It is fluid.
I can go back and reread my past work (sometimes, with a horrified smirk) and see how my evolution has spiralled into a new direction.
The thought I had today was this.
I have always considered myself a writer.
In the past, I would say it in a dreamy way, as if I was a writer in my imagination in some far off land, but could never actually be one in real life.
I usually referred to writing as a hobby, cause I mean, come on, isn't it a little gallant to pump my own tires?
When I quit the corporate world (2 month anniversary! YEAH!), I realized that life and dreams happen in the now. Not tomorrow, not the next day, and not in 5 years.
People put off doing what they want to do in life forever, and that is probably one of the biggest tragedies.
Not everyone automatically knows what their soul calling is, and that's OK too!
You have time to figure it out.
But, let's say you do know...and you're not doing anything about it, ask yourself...why?
I let fear of failure hold me back from pursuing what I wanted to do for a long time.
I was afraid I would not find work.
I was afraid I would not be able to support myself.
I was afraid it wasn't a respectable career shift, after having climbed the corporate ladder for so long.
But you know what? The drive was bigger than the fear, and I did it anyways.
Worth noting that I have an extremely supportive husband who has backed my dreams from Day 1.
I would not have been able to do all of this without his help (or I would, but probably from the spare room at my mom's house. Mooching meals and personal supplies. Kind of like I did this summer! Joking. Sort of. Hi Mom!)
8 weeks ago, I started networking to find some freelance projects that I could work on.
It took some time, at first.
I sifted through a lot of proposals that didn't interest me.
But then, something cool happened.
I started getting offers and projects for things that DID interest me.
In fact, I got so many that I'm almost at my weekly capacity and have to restructure my chore and Netflix schedule.
So, here I am, working from my little home office (well, it's a chair and windowsill FOR NOW, but we are going desk and office supply shopping this weekend!) thinking, AH. I did it, and it wasn't even that hard.
Why was I so afraid of this for so long?
|Say my name, motherfucker.|