Mar 2016
March 31, 2016- Journal entry
I’ve always felt guided to things, drawn to every destination mapped out for me thus far. But for some reason, at a time where I need guidance the most, I am stuck. At a time where I’m told to move the most, my feet remain frozen to this place. I keep telling myself “you need to move, you need to move, you have to move!”. Maybe I feel safer on pause. Maybe I am scared of paving the wrong path for myself. I’m about to graduate and college doesn't feel like much of a destination… it feels more like four walls that weigh any sort of chance I have at making it in this world; it feels like a calculation. And if all my numbers don't add up right, just perfectly, I’ll fall and end up stranded in fractions of lost potential.
But right now, in this exact moment in time, my pen feels like enough; my pen feels like a perfect destination, and with every period I mark, I feel closer to it. Maybe I’m completely naive and clueless. Who am I to solely rely on my pen to take me places, important places? How stupid can I be? To believe in my work… to believe in myself enough to pave streets of ink and scribbled out words?
My work, this ink, it is all I have to offer, it is all that consumes me and I don’t think classrooms and crumpled up graph paper will change that. So maybe I'm paused because I’ve already crossed the line of my destination. I can’t help but think this is where I'm supposed to be. This ink, as long as it runs,
I don’t have to.
I’ve always felt guided to things, drawn to every destination mapped out for me thus far. But for some reason, at a time where I need guidance the most, I am stuck. At a time where I’m told to move the most, my feet remain frozen to this place. I keep telling myself “you need to move, you need to move, you have to move!”. Maybe I feel safer on pause. Maybe I am scared of paving the wrong path for myself. I’m about to graduate and college doesn't feel like much of a destination… it feels more like four walls that weigh any sort of chance I have at making it in this world; it feels like a calculation. And if all my numbers don't add up right, just perfectly, I’ll fall and end up stranded in fractions of lost potential.
But right now, in this exact moment in time, my pen feels like enough; my pen feels like a perfect destination, and with every period I mark, I feel closer to it. Maybe I’m completely naive and clueless. Who am I to solely rely on my pen to take me places, important places? How stupid can I be? To believe in my work… to believe in myself enough to pave streets of ink and scribbled out words?
My work, this ink, it is all I have to offer, it is all that consumes me and I don’t think classrooms and crumpled up graph paper will change that. So maybe I'm paused because I’ve already crossed the line of my destination. I can’t help but think this is where I'm supposed to be. This ink, as long as it runs,
I don’t have to.
