Lately, I’ve been especially struggling with several different aspects of my life. I say especially because although I have struggled before, it was never with things as important than this, or at a time more imperative than this one. Career, relationships, discovering what makes me happy in general, you know, typical worries for a 22 year old to have and that every adult swears will “sort itself out if you are patient.” Here’s the thing, though: I am not.
If I told you how many times I’ve tried to start a blog, a journal, a short story, really anything to do with writing for that matter, you would laugh in my face and probably tell me I am just not passionate enough. If I was, maybe I would’ve finished something by now. Maybe I would have kept up with that journal or finished that story or just flat out did anything I said I was going to do. However, not only am I impatient: I am a wanderer. Not in a dreamlike, romanticized, kind of way. I’m usually very present. But my passions wander constantly, taking a pit stop and different destinations until it becomes too comfortable or scared and has to flee.
I want to be a writer. I want to publish books. I want to take pictures. So I do these things on a whim and then I stop. The destination didn’t get old for me, I just didn’t feel good enough for it. So here’s me expressing that I am going to get better. Everything still terrifies me, I still don’t think I am creative enough to over come it, but I am going to try.