Every year I make a promise to myself that I'm going to write more. I'll take more pictures. I'll be a pro multitasker (even though multitasking is incredibly inefficient and we all know it) and then it's January first and I lack inspiration. Or it's January first and I'm newly engaged and wedding planning and moving out for the first time and trying to keep my grades up and working full time.
And actually, It's April first. So I'm way off.
I'm living 18 and a half hour days (I just counted that on my fingers). My day consists of waking up at 5:30 AM (a horrible idea) to workout with my fiancé (a much less horrible idea) then getting home to frantically shower and make myself look like I didn't just crawl out of a sewer, then breakfast that hopefully isn't all carbs, squeezing in that quality time with the Lord I need and then rushing to work, inadvertently late.
I'm trying. But am I trying my best? That is left to be seen.
1. We drove for an hour to find this super cool place Noble talked about from growing up here. We found this trailer park. It was scary and maybe two people live there. Apparently Grand Theft Auto has an accurate depiction of the scene. 2. After another 20 minutes we found the lake Noble promised kills most fish and is covered in the bones of dead animals. To quote a reviewer "The dead fish and dead fish aroma was unpleasant. But it was a once in a lifetime experience." Like this reviewer, I give this lake 5 stars. 3. My heart
I'm taking it one day at a time, whatever "it" is. I learned this year, and I believe we are far enough into the year to warrant a lesson, is that I can't push things even if I know it's good for me. My life has been consumed with planning and commitment and achievement. That stuff that I look back on with a touch of pride. I've successfully run a magazine whilst working two part time jobs and taking college classes full time, I know I can do hard things. To see myself having to pull back just to stay afloat is the most keenly frustrating thing I have ever experienced.
When I was growing up my family had goats on and off throughout the years. When you tie a goat up in a grassy area where there is plenty to eat, plenty of shade, plenty of water, they will stretch and pull against their rope just to sniff the tiniest weed until the rope is so tight it is practically choking them and causing them to cough. That's what I picture when I say "I'm at the end of my rope".
I can feel myself coughing but I do not know what I'm straining for.
Life is pretty much as perfect as it could ever be.
My boyfriend that I adore decided my hand would look better with some bling on it and he became my fiancé. It's seven months until the wedding but it feels like years.
I get to work a job that genuinely excites me and challenges me every day.
My health is better than it's been for years and I'm not losing my hair any more. Someone told me my hair looked healthy and beautiful the other day and I didn't know why it meant so much.
If I'm completely honest.
It's not that I'm unhappy, though I do have those brief moments of panic at my plans not aligning with reality . But I continually feel myself balancing on the edge of a precipice.
I can only write when I'm upset.
I can only write when it's too late to care.
I've noticed a pattern; I'm proud of a lot of things that happen when I'm not in control.
Lately my head constantly feels like a raging storm. I'm pressing for creativity. I'm starving for material. I'm on my hands and knees begging for even a piece of inspiration. A crumb, the tiniest press to my lips. Anything.
Yet when inspiration comes, I hold back.
Thanks to the tourist who offered to take our picture and then snidely said, "you should really get a polarizer".
Why is that?
That's a question I've put some thought to lately and I think it's fear. Not FOMO. Or fear of losing. Or fear of not being good enough.
It's knowing exactly what I'm capable of but knowing how much energy that takes. Is it laziness? Maybe. Probably.
Yes. But it's also a big dose of realism which is I CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH RIGHT NOW.
Geeze, brain. Not doing three hundred things at once is okay sometimes.
Could I be doing more? It's quite possible. Should I? That's what I'm conflicted over. I am constantly drawn to words and expression through language yet I am the most un prolific writer of my day (right now). There was a time when I'd write 20 pages a day. A blog post, an extra post. A journal entry. Some thoughts for Grafted Magazine. A lengthy instagram caption waxing poetic about the struggle of life.
Last night was the first time I had written in my journal since I was on the plane coming home from California. Almost a month ago. Who am I now? I don't feel like the same person. If a person is judged by their actions then I am simply not "a writer".
Here's the root issue, I am restless. I have a million amazing things in my life and it's everything in me to not constantly be looking toward something new. It's strange to be in a place of stability where I do generally know what my days hold and what I'll be doing this time 6 months from now. I know all things in life are subject to change and I am okay with that. It's the fact that I don't have the freedom to follow dreams and passion and whims the same way I always have.
Maybe it's good, it can't all be bad.
I'm just stuck in the middle with no clue on the next possibilities.
The whole world is definitely my oyster, and that oyster is slimy and salty and doesn't have enough lemon squeezed on it.
I need to learn rest instead of restlessness. Restlessness is so close to being discontent and I don't want to play with that. So I suppose I'm learning small things that build into a bigger plan.