Sometimes I think that I want to live a different life. Not be a different person, or live somewhere else, or have different friends. Just live differently. You can't - well, I can't - always live life the way I want to live it. It just doesn't work that way. I started thinking about it. Really thinking about it. I came up with a list of all the things I want to do; the way I want to live. The way I want to be, and the way I want to feel the things I feel.
I want to not work. I want to take time off and just write. Write a novel or random thoughts or children's stories. Just write because that is what I think I'm meant to do. It's come at me hard lately, that writing is what comes most natural to me. I'm upset that I didn't realize it sooner. But then again, I've said it before - sometimes things come to you at a certain time; when you need them to come to you.
I want to stop caring about things I have no business caring about. I can't elaborate on this, because there's really nothing more to say. It's just the truth.
I want other people to do the above, too.
Stop judging myself so harshly. There are enough people doing that for me already.
Sometimes I want to stop writing about true love and actually find it.
But I'm worried that it won't feel like I think it should feel.
I want music to always speak to me the way it has up until this point. I have no reason to think that it won't, but it's a paranoia I have. What if music regresses to the point where no one connects anymore? It's a chilling thought.
There are songs I think of as mine. I do not share them with anyone. I want them to stay that way. Sometimes when people ask my favourite song, I lie. That's mine, and I don't want to share it.
I want to stop thinking that I've already met the love of my life and let him slip away. Because really? The love of your life doesn't slip away. It's a contradiction in terms.
I want to travel. To stop just saying I want to do it, and actually do it. Stop making excuses and go someplace I've always wanted to go. Ireland, Tuscany, Prague, Morocco, Bordeaux...
This has become more of a life list than I intended. But maybe that's what it really was all along.
Now, what do you want?
Sheena
I want for you to write that novel too....because I also think it's what you're meant to do ;o)...and I want one day to be able to walk into a bookstore and pick up your first (of many) published work.
It's okay that you've only come to this realisation now - I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and that things happen the way they happen for a reason too (not the best use of the Queen's english, but I'm sure you'll know what I'm trying to say!)...so maybe it's right NOW that you're meant to discover that this is what you should do with your life. It doesn't mean that what's gone before wasn't relevant; the journey you took needed to happen the way it did to get you to this point.
I've seen all of the recent posts on FF (FYI, the ten days you were on holiday - longest ten days ever!) and as usual you've blown me away. I haven't left reviews yet because quite honestly I don't really know what to say and I feel my words are somewhat redundant (there are only so many times I can tell you I love your writing!)- each time you post something new it tops the previous effort and further compounds my belief that you should be writing for a living.
You're too talented not to share your words....so have faith in yourself, young lady - you can do this!
As always, love and appreciation from London
Helen x
PS: I want to work for a publishing house....so maybe one day I'll get to work on that novel of yours and help launch it!
PPS: The thing that I've come to learn about true love is that you have to stop wanting to find it so badly....because that's when it finds you...and I speak from experience. (And I promise I'm not one of those 'I'm-so-fabulous-because-I'm-in-love-and-single-people-are-sad-and-alone' people, I'm really not!) Maybe you're meant to be writing about true love before it finds you....maybe that's how you'll know it's true love when it happens.