Some days are better than others.
Some days I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the girl I see. Luckily, those seem to be fewer and more far between.
But other days I feel exactly like who I am supposed to be.
I am the girl who drinks rum and coke, or vodka soda when I'm feeling tough and bitchy (and wanna have a real good time).
I am the girl who will have a cigarette after a long day at work (sorry, Mom).
I am the girl who will drive home, window down, music blaring, singing at the top of my lungs to some Top 100 Hit (that I knew before it was popular, I might add).
I feel good in my skin tonight, I feel alive and free. I feel like an actual adult, like things are falling into place, and I'm where I'm supposed to be.
Those nagging feelings of doubt and sadness and loneliness and nostalgia are creeping in at the edges, tempting me to have one more drink before bed so that I can ward them off. But I'm trying so hard to celebrate the feeling I have right this moment, the one I just felt 15 minutes ago in the car, the one I felt standing in the bathroom earlier after I had done my hair and makeup.
I am woman, hear me roar!
How silly, but I get it. I am true, and brave, and resolute (things every woman should be told that she is on a daily basis). I am a cosmopolitan girl. I am me. And I'm gonna celebrate that tonight as I drift off to sleep, knowing that I have friends who love me and family nearby, and a whole new world of possibilities waiting before me.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Just Pick One
I have so many ideas floating around in my head. So many things that could probably be developed into a full piece. I even have the framework done for one full story, one that is probably pretty good. I wish I could just PICK ONE instead of starting with 500 words at a time and then leaving it behind.
And how the hell does anyone come up with original content anyway? I know the kind of books I enjoy, so I think that's the kind of book I would like to write, but then all of my ideas are going to come from that genre and the ideas that already exist. How many times can a young unsuspecting woman end up in a position of rebellion against the BIG BAD GOVERNMENT?
And what about all of the caveats and the things that are under or over represented? I think we could always use more strong women in literature, but are there enough strong young men? Are there books written for young men to relate to? And what about people of color, or the LGBTQ community? I would love to write a character, or a few of them, that inspire people across the board. I would love to write a story that isn't forced and just truly and honestly depicts the plot and happens to have great, diverse characters. How did J.K. Rowling get to where she is? Did she know when she was writing Socerer's Stone how great it was? How much it would mean? Did Jodi Picoult know she would write 20 plus books, all equally well-respected?
Where do I even begin? I find that my current story does not quite make me excited anymore, but I don't have the heart to scrap it or start something new after all of the effort I've put in. And I don't expect to be a 25 year old great American author. I don't expect to ever be published, but it floats around in my head sometimes.
AND THE OTHER THING- I see my writing as fully formed movies already. I see exactly how I would want the scene to appear as if it were on screen. So how do I translate that to a page? And into something even remotely interesting to anyone else?
I wish I could start and finish something. For once.
And how the hell does anyone come up with original content anyway? I know the kind of books I enjoy, so I think that's the kind of book I would like to write, but then all of my ideas are going to come from that genre and the ideas that already exist. How many times can a young unsuspecting woman end up in a position of rebellion against the BIG BAD GOVERNMENT?
And what about all of the caveats and the things that are under or over represented? I think we could always use more strong women in literature, but are there enough strong young men? Are there books written for young men to relate to? And what about people of color, or the LGBTQ community? I would love to write a character, or a few of them, that inspire people across the board. I would love to write a story that isn't forced and just truly and honestly depicts the plot and happens to have great, diverse characters. How did J.K. Rowling get to where she is? Did she know when she was writing Socerer's Stone how great it was? How much it would mean? Did Jodi Picoult know she would write 20 plus books, all equally well-respected?
Where do I even begin? I find that my current story does not quite make me excited anymore, but I don't have the heart to scrap it or start something new after all of the effort I've put in. And I don't expect to be a 25 year old great American author. I don't expect to ever be published, but it floats around in my head sometimes.
AND THE OTHER THING- I see my writing as fully formed movies already. I see exactly how I would want the scene to appear as if it were on screen. So how do I translate that to a page? And into something even remotely interesting to anyone else?
I wish I could start and finish something. For once.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Leaving.
I'm so upset with myself for leaving.
Why did I leave behind a thing that made me happy? For the first time in years, for the first time since starting college, I found something that brought me joy and I left it. Because I was weak and homesick. Because I was kind of sad. And now here I am, my heart hurts worse than it ever did before, raw and broken for the wonderful thing I left behind. For the happiness I had and for the emptiness I feel now.
I'm sitting here tonight at the hotel listening to the soundtracks of the nights that made my heart soar. To the words that gave me courage and let me know that I was on to something real. Why would I ever leave that thing?
Mom told me that if I got accepted and went back, that I should just go and not worry about school for a while. That I should follow this thing that made me so passionate and happy. And what did I do? I barely made it the eight months before I came running back. And excuses upon excuses, but I know in my heart that I was scared. That I was lonely.
So I took this thing that was placed before me in almost perfect synchronicity from the Universe and I blew it all away. And who would ever respect a person who moved states THREE times? I fear I could never go back for the silliness of it all, not to mention- could I live with myself if I was working two jobs at 28, one of them being minimum wage at a theme park? I doubt it. My heart is heavy with realization that the perfect timing that was offered to me has vanished. That perhaps for the first time, something is truly irreversible due to my own choices and my pride.
And so what even do I miss? Because there are other things I do want to accomplish in my life. Certainly at some point I could go back if I really wanted, or if I felt like I was still being pulled that way. So what do I miss? It's absolutely the animals. I miss seeing them every day, hearing them and being near to them. I loved them deeply and I do miss their presence and the happiness it brought me to see them. So is that all? I do miss some of the people I met, and I absolutely miss the weather, though it's finally nicer here. And I have such dear friends here, and of course my parents.
So what is more important? The idea that I want to be in Florida and part of something that I think made me so fundamentally happy, or being near to the people who love me unconditionally and finishing a degree that will have taken the better part of a decade by the time I'm done?
Why did I leave behind a thing that made me happy? For the first time in years, for the first time since starting college, I found something that brought me joy and I left it. Because I was weak and homesick. Because I was kind of sad. And now here I am, my heart hurts worse than it ever did before, raw and broken for the wonderful thing I left behind. For the happiness I had and for the emptiness I feel now.
I'm sitting here tonight at the hotel listening to the soundtracks of the nights that made my heart soar. To the words that gave me courage and let me know that I was on to something real. Why would I ever leave that thing?
Mom told me that if I got accepted and went back, that I should just go and not worry about school for a while. That I should follow this thing that made me so passionate and happy. And what did I do? I barely made it the eight months before I came running back. And excuses upon excuses, but I know in my heart that I was scared. That I was lonely.
So I took this thing that was placed before me in almost perfect synchronicity from the Universe and I blew it all away. And who would ever respect a person who moved states THREE times? I fear I could never go back for the silliness of it all, not to mention- could I live with myself if I was working two jobs at 28, one of them being minimum wage at a theme park? I doubt it. My heart is heavy with realization that the perfect timing that was offered to me has vanished. That perhaps for the first time, something is truly irreversible due to my own choices and my pride.
And so what even do I miss? Because there are other things I do want to accomplish in my life. Certainly at some point I could go back if I really wanted, or if I felt like I was still being pulled that way. So what do I miss? It's absolutely the animals. I miss seeing them every day, hearing them and being near to them. I loved them deeply and I do miss their presence and the happiness it brought me to see them. So is that all? I do miss some of the people I met, and I absolutely miss the weather, though it's finally nicer here. And I have such dear friends here, and of course my parents.
So what is more important? The idea that I want to be in Florida and part of something that I think made me so fundamentally happy, or being near to the people who love me unconditionally and finishing a degree that will have taken the better part of a decade by the time I'm done?
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