taking my time
Today is day 12 of my 30-day posting challenge on Substack, and I won’t lie, it’s getting harder and harder every day. Half of me wants to throw in the towel and give up, the other half is stubborn and demands that I finish because I’m not a quitter.
But what if I am?
I’ve been struggling a lot with figuring out what I want to do with my life—whether my dreams are changing or if I’m just giving up on them, and by proxy, myself.
When I was a kid, I had a dream of being a writer. That was my first big dream. I remember sitting with my dad in our “Creation Station”—an old garage that was closed in and turned into a crafting room—and working on a novel that I never finished. Something about a kid in space, roughly based on the whimsy of Magic Tree House, my favorite childhood series.
As I grew up and overcame my speech impediment, I decided to become an actor. Professional. Earn a living wage from it. Hit famedom quick and never worry about money a day in my life.
I think I was wrong.
Now I struggle with knowing what I really want.
It’s a hustle, whatever you choose. And I guess it’s all about choosing the hustle that’s worth it. But there’s the hustle to pay bills and then the hustle to pursue your dreams, and then one day, if you’re lucky, it all becomes the same thing.
And a part of me really, really believes I could have all of my dreams if I just got out of my own way. In fact, all of me believes that. I 100% believe that. But something is holding me back. Maybe it’s the fear of failure, or the fear of responsibility that comes with success. Maybe it’s just the reality of living with a chronic illness. Of feeling like I have to fight myself most days just to make it out of the door.
I have always been a hard worker. My entire adolescence was dedicated to doing the most and being the best at everything. I was so avoidant of what my internal world was like that I never knew I needed a break, and so I never gave myself one. I am now so aware of myself and my feelings that there is no possible way I could avoid what’s going on. And now I have 27 years worth of healing to do. And I need to pursue the life of my dreams? And I need to eat healthy and have a social life and have the perfect relationship and have the best clothes and the hottest body and the best job? Fuck. It’s all too much.
I am okay, I think, with taking my time.
I think one day I will wake up and shake all of the fear I’ve been holding on to. And I think one day it will all feel worth it. And one day, it will all make sense.
I’m not sure when that will be, but it feels like it’s going to be soon.
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