Patterned Fascades

There's so much going on these days.  And yet there's so much to get done.  You'd think that with all this time left from getting rid of a job that wasn't building my future, but basically killing my lungs, I'd have at least written a few promising destruction stories or at least some emo driven sounding anthems to pass the time.  Given only a few weeks have passed since leaving my last job, which I totally worked for one year -- it stems the reason I should be celebrating the passing of those long, 60+ work hours and enjoying some respected freedom, I have been lethargic to be blunt.  And the only amount of time I've been able to subject myself to writing, has been "Happy Birthday" Facebook posts to people I haven't spoken to in quite some time.  Not that I hadn't wanted to reach out to them, but I've been "busy."  Truly busy -- trying not to jump from imaginary ledges, daily, which you can see can distract you from social media fascination.

I've patterned myself, now, to becoming more so what I had envisioned before.  You know?  When I was on a path towards doing something great with my life.  Before I had to buckle down and latch onto a job with benefits, in order to join the adult world of graduated persons.  The world where bills build up so high, you cannot see the dreams that you once gravitated towards.  I had to sell out and take a job that I knew would not build my resume the way I wanted, but just add another few lines of experience.  I worked another job, and eventually grew so tired I didn't have any time left to devote to writing.  No  time for passion.  No time for relaxation.  No time to do what I initially went to school for years and years to do.  And those same years where I grew financial aid debt and knew I'd have to pay back . . . Interesting how you go through debt to study in a field where after graduation it becomes increasingly difficult to live normally in the "real world," and you inherently turn to other realms of work in order to pay back those same loans.  But I still wouldn't trade those years of university for anything.  I know it takes many years to pay back those loans.  More years than it took me to get through schooling -- from pre-K through Graduate school.

But, today starts a new day.  A new adventure if you will.  A time to go back to what really matters.  What mattered all the time, and yet I was too scared to fail that I went and reached for something that didn't give me any happiness.  Only disdain toward my own self.  I reject the pass jobs that never helped me build as an artist.   I long for the purpose, again.  And I begin anew.  I long for more stories.  Not just out of frustration.  But because there's no other way, but to write.  I long for reaching my goals and dreams.  I long for not wanting to leap from ledges in order to find peace . . . I long for becoming who I know I'm suppose to be.  And I need not to just long, but instead go after what I want.

Though it's frightening to jump without knowledge of how you might land.  It's even more scary to continue on a path of uncertainty in something that slowly and constantly takes from you.  Leaving you with nothing left.

It took a year to break the walls of artistic imprisonment, but now that I'm free -- I'm not going back.  I'm branching into a direction that will take guts, courage and lots of alcohol (just a little writers humor -- I'm straight edge, dudes).  I'm going after my own life and career, without a safety net.  Standing on the edge and waiting to catch the wind to carry me over.  But gladly approaching uncertainty and pushing with my heart this time.  And not my school debt.