Like most people my age, I have a Linked In and a ZipRecruiter app on my phone, I spend most of my work days grumbling about there being better ways to make money and I’m constantly on the verge of deciding which path to take.
After the internal debates and the research, I always come back to a particular path and just stand there. I never know if I should take the leap. I like to tell myself that it’s the lack of a desk and chair, a private space and a newer computer. But really, it’s none of those things. It’s me. I’m holding myself back.
I’m scared to put my work out there and no one reads it, worse, no one likes it. Putting your art out there, for the world to comment, is an act of vulnerability. I’ve allowed self-doubt to fester under my skin for six years. All those years of suppression have left me negative. I don’t know what it’s like to be happy for someone else’s success because I haven’t had a shred of success since my own college acceptance letter. Instead of happiness, a fit of burning jealousy fills me, not because of the career they’ve chosen but because they have a career. Admittedly some of my friends may be unhappy in those sought after careers and thus at the same crossroads as myself. The only difference is they don’t often get asked, “what do you want to do.”
When asked, doctors often say medicine is calling. I feel the same could be said of writing. It’s called to me my entire life yet fear has kept the calling at bay.
Since deciding to delete all the job hunting apps and accepting the job I have (for the time being) words have flown from me at such a pace I can’t even fathom. I’m answering the call and in turn, my mind is churning out the words. I’m not fearing the blank page anymore because I’m no longer suppressing what I’m meant to do.
Life doesn’t always work out the way you plan. What matters is that you eventually get it right.