I want to write.
I’ve wanted to write books for as long as I can remember. Short stories have always been my forte. I daydream my life, and imaginary tales, in such great detail that they eventually manifest themselves into reality or stories that I write or live out myself.
Where do I start?
I guess I should begin by admitting
I awoke to the sun creeping through the French doors of our apartment in Cambodia this morning, excited that it was only 7:45 in the morning, which gave me plenty of time to call my parents, who are currently 11-hours behind us.
Transitioning dreams into reality is a complex, and often overwhelming task. Often people get lost in the ‘how’ of it all, and forgo trying altogether. Why go through the trouble of creating your own path, knowing that there is a chance it will not lead anywhere, especially when there are so many other established paths for you to follow?
My writing always features an ever-present theme – my continuous, yet futile, search for elusive somethings. This actually doubles as the theme of my life, and also the catalyst for the anxiety that seemed to
stalk follow me throughout my journey of self-discovery.
Read Part One & Part Two Now
As a writer, I have always understood the power of words, as well as their ability to distort and exaggerate reality. A tiny studio apartment can become ‘an intimate space’, with just a few keystrokes. While you may leave the Thursday viewing irate, ranting about how the real estate agent misrepresented the property, you might also find yourself mentioning how intimate the space was after a few mimosas at Saturday’s brunch.
Los Angeles was a peak into a lifestyle that didn’t exist in my Midwestern hometown. No one in LA had a ‘real job’, everyone was creating something cool and living life on the edge. Age was just a number and cool was the new youth.
Finding your own way can be a difficult task after years of following directions. I know it was for me. It was as if my life was already predetermined for me, and I was just going through the motions. The ability to pick small details – which sports I would play, what college I would attend, my college major – created a small sense of freedom, but honestly, I was on auto-pilot.
Our final week in the states is a blurred memory of buying and selling things. We had a short list of everything we thought we needed and a 3-bedroom apartment full of things that had to go. We had an epic ‘everything must go’ garage sale,
We all have people, relationships and behaviors in our life that have been identified as unproductive, unhealthy, or even the root to our unhappiness. I’m a bit intrigued by our innate desire to make them tolerable, rather than restructuring, or eliminating them altogether.