(2015) I’m 34 and at that place life where there’s no denying that all I want to do is write.
Looking back I’ve seen how much god awful effort I’ve put into fighting it.
I used to go back-and-forth thinking my obligation was to get a real job and other days throw my hands up and say I’m done with it. For someone who never believed in the 9 to 5 since childhood, I guess you could say I was pr-etty disappointed.
I’ve had aspirations: be a vet ..a lawyer. Or if I went my dads route–marry someone rich (?)
Why the hell would I subject myself to that shit, I thought. So much fear and criticism goes into putting one’s self out there. That’s just it though-that’s what a writer does. We are the most self deprecating! I really need to tell my story!
As a kid I lived for it. Needing to write was the same as needing blood. The freedom of it was my own self expression wanting to go against the grain. Often though that got me in trouble. I‘d write and write and write, ‘Working out the bones’, I guess. And back then I didnt have so many rules to my writing, lol.
I was admonished often for having my head up in the clouds. I’m here to tell you: My head is still there.
If I donn’t have this outlet–then what? I’ll tell you what-I’m a: a recluse, a drone, a zombie!
If I don’t dip my feet in the waters I still drown. Because I’m still figuring out who I am, who I want to be and I can only hope it will get easier I don’t know. I don’t want to get to 50 and wonder
Who the hell am I ?