Half-Way Through 2015 Already?!

It’s almost half way through 2015. *cue the inevitable exclamation of disbelief that the year is half over when it feels like it just started* Yes, six months is right around the corner with just a week and half left of May.

Though it is never time that moves in pace, but our attention to time that alters with age, I find myself getting back to the days of childhood where all day felt like a year and a year felt like eternity. The idea is that if I pay more attention to my moments and how I fill them, then maybe I can begin to consistently fill my moments with actions that make for days that propel me toward where I want to be weeks, months and years from today. It’s still a struggle of course—creating or trying to create your own path—but life in general is a work in progress.

So, as the year begins to make the turn into its second half, what better way than to take this Super Mario-esque checkpoint and use it as a check-up on the goals you made for this year back in January!

After carefully examining the various goal lists I have made for this year, I recognize that there are a few places that I need to make some alterations—and that’s okay. Goals do not have to be set in stone because we’re a dynamic people that change with the tide of each day. It’s impossible to know the hand that we will be dealt tomorrow or even a couple of hours from now. Sure, we can predict that it’ll be the same routine we’ve become accustomed to, that no colors will drift outside the lines, but that tends to be the point where we need to be shaken up the most.

The main alteration I’ll be making to my goal lists is starting smaller with everyday habits I need to develop. These will be the foundation I need in order to return to the “original” plan, or even to create space for new ones. I am not ashamed that I waiver, and I do it a lot—trust me—but I am proud of my resiliency to recognize where I need to make change and to be willing to put forth the effort in order to do so.

The half-way mark is a great place for self-reflection and to really sit and think about where you are in relation to where you want to be, and if where you want to be has changed in the last six months, which is HIGHLY probable, then there’s no better time to start fresh.

Wishing everyone a multitude of peace, courage and abundance in the second half of 2015!

xoxo

Today’s Realization: I Have Been My Own Worst Enemy

By running away from my passion, I have been running away from God.

I’m afraid. I have always been afraid. It’s why I always dismissed my feeble attempts at fiction. It’s why any time I wrote prose or poetry I never gave it a chance. It’s the reason I blog inconsistently, or will run away from the voice inside my head that rings as loud and insufferable as the most annoying of ear worms: “Write today.”

I’m afraid that I will make a mockery of the art that I admire so greatly. That I will taint the platform that my favorites used to open up the hearts and minds of the world in their time and in mine.

I’m afraid that what I produce won’t be good enough. That I’ll create something that will have others look and say, “How dare she call herself a writer.” So, I don’t—call myself a writer that is.

I spent four years of my life studying the literary canon of authors that ranged from William Wordsworth to John Milton to Octavia Butler, and each piece of literature I studied, each literary analysis I wrote, the more inspired I became to create a work that would leave others just as open as I was. Open to seeing a world vastly different from the one prior to reading the first words on that first page. Open to being in touch with emotions and ideologies that were previously brushed away as insignificant and false.

I wanted to change and create perspectives.

But, self-doubt and a fear of failure constantly prevents me from doing the one thing that I’ve always wanted to do. 

It has called my name since before I can remember. From Junie B. Jones to Lois Lowry and Neil Gaiman in that trailer classroom, gathering around on the blue, carpeted floor to be frightened and enraptured by visions of button eyes in alternate realities that threaten the lives of children.

It continued on to Yann Martel and John Steinbeck, and even to Stephanie Meyer. I could go between Jodi Piccoult and Cicely von Ziegesar before switching to Jane Austen and Nathaniel Hawthorne. I fed myself with stories and clothed my back with diaries that logged what I was reading and how it made me feel.

I’ll never forget not being able to close my eyes until I finished the final installment of the beloved and undisputed champion of all book series (in my eyes), Harry Potter.

Fast forward to University, where I majored in English solely because it was a part of me. What else would I do? Aren’t you supposed to major in the subject you liked? All I know is reading and writing, so English major it is! I explored other subjects that might’ve peaked my interest, and I believed that I could reconcile that major along with a more “job-oriented” study—and I did—for three years. But nothing ever made me feel the way I did when I was reading, and nothing ever made me more happier than to release all that I had gained by spilling words to paper.

I’ve never felt more sure that something was made for me, and yet, simultaneously I run in the opposite direction afraid to attempt because of the risk of failing. If I couldn’t do it as good as the greats, then I shouldn’t make a mockery of it by trying at all.

So, the time has come for me to be honest with myself. I am orchestrating my own demise. My descent into my deepest fear speeds up every day, and I am the one and only pilot in the cockpit. Psychology calls it a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s ironic, that I am afraid of failing and so I lead myself to failure by not doing what has been placed on my heart to do my entire life.

Writing is hard, but it is apart of me. Writing takes constant work and rework and remastering, but it is what I am meant to do. The more I try to push it away, the louder the ear worm screams as consistent as a church knell on Sunday morning. By running away from my passion, I have been running away from God.

I used to tell myself, and others, that I never allowed fear to dictate my actions. It’s what brought me to where I am now after all. If I allowed my fear of traveling across the world to live without my family and friends straight out of college for an entire year, I would not be living in a reality that had only existed in my mind. Though I made the leap with this secondary passion, my primary remained caged in fear. The time has finally come to let that bird sing freely.