The Pursuit of Happiness

Over the weekend, something happened that I haven't been able to shake from memory. My boyfriend, Dana, and I were sitting on the couch watching television and playing on our phones. Dana decided to "Google" me as a result of a conversation we had been having at the time. The first thing that popped up when he used my full name was a woman who was a publisher, author and editor. He showed me the page from his phone. On the page, was a list of this woman's various accomplishments next to her smiling face and all I could think was, "That should be me." 
I instantly started bawling and he felt awful for showing it to me. I assured him that I would be fine and stopped to realize just how intense my reaction was at this stranger's success. I realized in that moment that I still knew what I wanted out of life, the career I wanted to have, the merits with which I wanted to be credited, the biography in which I wanted to be featured. If I am getting this choked up over a random article on Google, then I am meant to do other things with my life. 
I think we get so wrapped up in the way things are now that we fail to recognize our future is bound to be different than our present. I remind myself that just a year ago I was working part time at the bank, trying to make ends meet, worrying about finding a full time job and writing in my journal about my hopes to be working in the office where I am now. Life moves forward whether we want it to or not, and we have to decide in which direction we'd like it to go. I could have allowed it to flat-line, staying at the bank until the full time spot inevitably opened, going through the motions for years, numbing myself to a career in which I would never be fulfilled. But I didn't. 
I allowed myself to take a step forward, accepting a new job that challenged me. I was scared when I started, even though it was what I had wanted. I wondered if I was stepping from something comfortable into a place where I'd be miserable, but I had to take the risk in order to know. Almost nine months later, I realize that it was the right decision. I may not be in this office or this career forever, but I'm in a better place now than I was in a year ago or even two years ago. 
I suppose there is a lesson to be learned from my slight meltdown- continue to follow your ambitions. Your dreams are shouting at you, flashing in front of your face, and it's your job to decide whether to ignore or embrace them. I know that I can't let go of my desire to write. It may take me a while, but every job I take, every new friend I make, every experience I have is leading me to a better place. Every decision I make contributes to the person I am and strive to be.

Getting Back Into the Groove

Well, if it has not been apparent, I have been in a bit of a writing rut lately. It isn't necessarily from lack of things to say- I have a plethora of words, ideas, and memories floating around in my head at any given time. No, I have been ignoring my inner creative child, an action that was quite frowned upon in my creativity class. I was just writing in my neglected journal about class and how I missed composing every day. Writing a journal entry or "morning pages" was a requirement, yet it never seemed like a chore or a job. The assignment motivated me to channel my inner thoughts through ink to paper, and I beyond proud of the stacks of composition books lying in my closet. There is something about one's handwriting scrawled across pages and pages of paper that is indescribably rewarding. 
However, I have let life take hold of me and ignored my inner voice. I have become so wrapped up in my job, my relationship, the relationships of others, that I have pushed the small voice in my head aside as it nags me to be heard on my daily commute. It is the moments in the car before the rush of the day that the dreams of the previous nights, the conversations I've had recently, even memories that I have buried, come creeping in to float around my consciousness. It is in that half hour commute that I give my thoughts free range along with my emotions. I let the past and the present and even my potential future collide in a thunderstorm of mixed emotions within the confines of my vehicle. My problem is I never allow them to escape that cabin. 
On the way home, I grow increasingly weary from my day and brush aside my thoughts from the morning. I swat at the memories as they beg for my attention, brushing them aside when a song from the radio sparks a thought. Instead of going home and writing, as I should do, I drive home and lock my car, securing the words inside to suffocate in the rising summer heat until the next day. It is like that every day- wash, rinse, repeat. I can't claim to want to be a novelist, a blogger, a successful writer if I ignore all the senses that scream at me daily, begging for relief through words on a page. 
As I sit in my kitchen, coffee in hand, silence surrounding me, I am giving into my creative child. It has been months since I have paid attention to this blog; my journal looks like a starving creature next to my plump notebooks of years past. There is so much changing, so much happening that I am missing, that I am failing to capture in words. I made a promise to myself that I would try to get back on track. I can not promise perfection, but I can promise to make a valiant attempt at getting back into the groove. I don't want to lose my drive, and I certainly don't want to lose focus on my writing. It is beyond imperative that I live up to the expectations I have set for myself, or else, what is the point?