At times, I am overwhelmed with the sheer relief of the thought of never having to stress over papers due, discussion questions, tests, grades, lectures, seminars, sources or educational loans again. At least, not unless I decide to get my Masters. I am, in essence, a nerd. I love to learn. But I can learn on my own, much cheaper. :-) Back to the original thought, I've dreamed of this for six years. I believed I would have used my Associate's Degree by now. (I haven't, by the way.) I thought I would KNOW what I want to be when I'm grown up, erm, I mean, now. And I don't.
I want to be an editor. I want to be an author. I want to be a researcher for criminal law. I want to own a bookstore. What I am, is a jailer. And I love it, most days. I try to talk to the inmates, try to encourage them to better themselves in the ways that they can while incarcerated. I make decent money for this town (though not nearly as much as if I moved an hour away and actually used my degree, either of them now, lol). I finally have insurance again. I get along with my co-workers. There is a lot of stress, and a lot of laughter. All in all, of all the jobs I've had, this one definately takes the cake. But I don't want it to be my forever. That's up to me.
Gulp.
So now I face the crux of my unhappiness in what is supposed to be such a happy time. I'm not what I've always wanted to be. A writer. Sure, I write (though, less the past couple of years than I have since I was 11). I have never been published, though I have attempted it a few times. I even wrote a book when I was 15. I'm not saying it's good. But its original, and more than 300 pages, and I'm proud of the dedication I showed, devoting nearly all my time to it, for 3 months.
11 years later, and other than the birth of my son (6 years ago and celebrating his achievements) I haven't felt that accomplished or proud since. I was so full of the possibilities then. I never would have predicted the path my life has taken, but I don't have a lot of regrets about the path that it did take. Other than that I have cheated myself by putting my passion on hold. There is such a sense of wonder, when I read something that I wrote, and like it. Some of the possibilities I once saw come back to me.
That is what this blog is about. Reminding me that the possibilities are still out there, just the view has changed. I don't want to have failed because I never truly tried, I don't want to fail because I gave up. That's how you fail, when you stop.
I'm not sure if anyone will read the words I put here, journal form or characters, scenes, what have you. I'm not sure it matters, yet. This is new for me. My writing has always been closely guarded, and so this is an adventure. An opening of a bud. Whether it is a dew kissed rose, or a garden weed, we shall see, I suppose.
