You don’t know me. I know you don’t know me, because I don’t know me. Here I am, wide awake at some crazy ass time. I have this burning sensation to write something, anything. I have all these book ideas floating around in my mind. I just have to commit. I have to decide which idea I should take a chance on and do it. I had to try really hard not to write “just do it” in that last sentence. I hate me. I hate 1:30 crazy, mind won’t shut down, me.
I keep thinking I should take a writer’s workshop or writer’s bootcamp. Do they even have writer’s bootcamp? They should if they don’t, whoever they is. I hate that last sentence. Can I write anything that would even be remotely interesting to anyone besides my mother? (Sorry mom, I love you.) I read books and I get inspired. Slowly, the inspiration fades. Then, I have these freaking insomniac nights where my body is basically letting me know that it will continue to torture me if I don’t write something. So, here I am, writing something.
But, right now, something is nothing. Something is a way to ease my mind. Something will let me roll over and go to sleep. Something won’t fill those depths and crevices of my empty mess. Something won’t make me strive to work harder and do better on my next book. Something won’t make me or anyone else examine and come head-on with those life changing questions. Something has all possibilities of being nothing.
What does it take for something to be everything? Do I need a fancy new laptop? Is it my location? Do I need more schooling? Should I try a stress-relieving workout? I could people watch for material. I could read more books. Should I pick someone’s brain who has written a book? What do I need? What will make my something turn into everything?
I have no answers, just the burn to write. I hope that in the end, that will be enough.
My search for help continues. This sparked my interest.
I had a rather large and disappointing blow dealt to me today. No, it’s not my health or anything to do with my kids. The fact that I even have to add that disclaimer shows me that there are way more important things in life than being disappointed about something.
Still, I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. My heart did ache. I was angry. I was sad. I allowed myself those few moments (okay, hours) of self pity.
We all have those magical things that make us who we are. We have personality traits that people like or hate or like to hate. We have our own personal ideas of what our lives should be and how we picture them working out. Once we get that vision in our mind, we set out on our path. Depending on who we are and what circumstances surround us, we either find some deviation of that path or blaze a new trail.
I have always been a firm believer in staying true to your dreams. There have been plenty of opportunities for change. Even more opportunities to conform or simply survive. The only way I know how to describe my feelings is to say that I have worked my whole adult life at trying to fan some embers of a fire. The embers smolder and smoke. I would use one of those old school fans you see people in colonial days keep on their fireplace hearth. I would fan the embers of my dreams. At times, I would see the fire ablaze. It would have so much heat radiating from it that it would take my breath away. At other points, there would be no sign of those amber streaks of light, only the remnants of what was once a hot, heaping pile of fire. But, there underneath all that coldness, in the depths of that darkness of nothing, there were the tiny stems of a sparking light. They may have been unseen to anyone who passed by the black and burnt woodpile, but they were there. They were there all along.
That’s how I feel about keeping my dreams alive. I feel like I try. I feel like I push. I can hustle. Where are the rewards? Where is my happy ending or my happy beginning for that matter?
Today was just a setback. I feed myself that line more often than I care to admit. So, here I am, still sitting at square one. I have nothing left to do but give it up to God. I will keep praying that I find my way. I will not lose faith in my cold, hidden dreams. I will not be selfish. I will not fall victim to self doubt and self pity. That’s what the enemy wishes me to do. He wishes me to fail. He wishes me to give up. My dreams are my dreams. Nobody can take them from me, not until I let them.