It's such a strange sensation at the age of 33 to realize that I'm still growing up. There's a certain sense of pride, a righteous indignation if you will, that resides within each of us and I think that growing up, in a way, means that a little more of that dies each day. That's not a bad thing, it's a very good thing. It's a learning process. It's a letting-go process. Letting go of our selfishness, letting go of our innate desire to be right all the time. I'm not going to say "I'm there" by any means, but I'm certainly closer to it each day.
Of course, anyone who knows me will probably think differently. I do come off as pretty self-centered. I talk a lot. About myself. I'm sarcastic too often. But part of growing up is realizing this, which I have. Another part of growing up is attempting to remedy these sorts of problems. Which I am doing. I find that, the less I talk, the more I learn. About other people and about myself. So if you know me, and you're around me much, and I seem quieter to you in the near future, it's because I'm attempting to remedy these sorts of problems. I can't say that I will succeed. I can only say that I'm going to try.
Another part of growing up is not allowing your disappointments to consume you. Not allowing your anger to become rage, but instead siphoning it into ambition. From time to time, I am disappointed with where I live, and what I do. Not overly consumed, or distraught, but disappointed. From time to time, that disappointment leads to a bit of anger. And in my past, I've allowed my anger to morph into bitterness, resentment, and/or rage. But no more. I've come to let go of most of my anger, save just a couple of things I cannot let go quite yet (but I'm also attempting to!) The rest of this anger I won't even allow to churn. I'm siphoning it off into ambition. I spent the last couple of days angry that I'm not a writer. I spent today deciding to be a writer.
I'm aware that this sounds somewhat asinine, seeing as how I am, in fact, writing right now. But there is a difference between writing and being a writer, and that's a subtle shift that I had not been able to discern until very recently.
I don't just want to write. A lot of people want to write. I don't just want to be a writer. A lot of people want to be a writer. I feel, with every cell in my body, that I was meant to be a writer. That this is my calling in life. That when God was "knitting me together in my Mother's womb" He said, "Hey -- this one's going to be a writer once she realizes that's what she's supposed to be doing". I put a lot of stock into the whole "Age 33" thing, and the fact that by that time Jesus had accomplished His entire mission in life. I feel a bit pathetic that I've only just begun to figure mine out.
It also comes to my attention with this revelation that I am in dire need of a laptop so that I can really write. Without distraction. At the same time, the revelation that I don't have extra cash falling out of my rear end hits me as well. Maybe I should start the www.donatealaptoptostephaniethestarvingartist.com fund.
No links today. Just pure, unadulterated thoughts from me to you. I also figure if I'm talking less, I'm thinking more, and that can't really be a bad thing, can it?