I have waited for something or someone over half my life, it seems. I am so tired of waiting.
Waiting for a husband to get back from deployment. Waiting to get back into performing. Waiting rooms are the worst, I have wasted more time there than anywhere.
I have so much experience waiting, and yet I am so terrible at it.
Happy to say I am no longer waiting. I am putting myself out there even if I fail miserably. I’m going to perform and audition for things. Going to write for profit through a company or through self-publishing.
My job keeps reminding me of my own mortality. I can hack a lot of other things but not the depression that comes with that. So instead of waiting this morning when I woke up at 2, I decided to get on the horse. Completed a writing resume and applied for writing and editing positions.
Total long shot, I know. But one rarely succeeds without trying.
And yet I recognize that this transformation will take time. And a dedication I have not devoted to anything save my daughter. And consistency, which I have not managed to establish in this hectic life.
And then there are always the naysayers. Those who tell you that you can’t when the truth is, you simply don’t. I remember having a dream about becoming a successful blogger. Then I realized that as long as I positively influence one person, I’m already a success.
Since a few personal testimonies have indicated that I’m on the right track, I’m just going to go with it. And believe in myself. And realize that popularity is not the greatest measure of success.
I was never one of the popular kids anyway. Why change now?
And maybe the answer isn’t writing after the day job. Maybe the answer is getting up early since I do my best work in the wee hours.
So I sit here with a cup of coffee, ready to conquer whatever life brings my way next. I’m going to be an active advocate for my own existence. Waiting has its benefits, but so does being assertive and knowing what you want (even if you don’t yet know how to get it). I’m going to continue to write and submit until every publication known to man rejects me. I’m going to finish my first book of essays. I might even throw in a romance novel (without the sex of course, because my mother might read it).
Mental health advocate. Musician. Actress. Writer. I need to start using all that I am.
But first, laundry.