Well hey there Tumblr, feels like it’s been ages! (That’s in part because by my usual standards it’s been half an eon.) Let’s take a look at life a year ago right now:
May 2012: Life wasn’t particularly bad. I was living with my parents in northern California, working three separate jobs - a cupcake shop, at Urban Outfitters, and my old faithful retail gig elsewhere, to be specific - and I was probably forty or so pages into writing my book. Single, but not miserable, just moving forward with life and, to be perfectly honest, just trying to get a handle on things. As any mid-twenties humanities major will tell you, life post-graduation is a little rough and leaves you lost.
May 2013: Living on my own with one of my best friends from high school and her boyfriend. Successfully transferred to my new store in downtown, complete with another promotion and additional raise. Trudging through what’ll hopefully be my last round of edits with my book. Still in the red, but making enough at my single, actual job to begin paying off some debt. During the last shifts I had at my old store met an absolutely amazing guy that I have yet to cease hanging out with. Far away from my sisters, but seeing both within the month - plus a roadtrip to northern California with said amazing guy, and Mumford & Sons a week later.
My life is far from perfect, but it still blows me away how completely lucky I’ve been and how great this year’s coming along.
In summary: even when shit seems shitty, work through it. Because you can honestly never see some of the best things when they’re two steps ahead.
Worrying about something? Having a bit of a major freak-out like myself? Borrow my amazing friends and a copy of Sigh No More, because I promise you, a heady portion of both combined with a hot cup of tea will go immeasurably far in fixing whatever bit of you is broken.
I was talking with my mom today as we made our way through Costco, and we ended up on the subject of writing and the creative process.
As a creative writing major, I bandy those two words about fairly often. I even have a fancy piece of paper that’s suggests I’m somewhat skilled in the field, though actual confirmation of any sort remains to be earned. Today it struck me how often I use the phrase creative writing without thinking about what it means. I always tend to gravitate towards the abstract meaning of the words - that “creative” writing is interesting writing, writing that’s done outside of the box. What I forget to think about is the far more mind-blowing part of the term: to create. Perhaps that’s not exactly what they meant when they coined the phrase. but it is now my favorite way to look at it, because that’s what you’re doing any time you set pen to paper or fingers to keys: you’re creating. It’s not necessarily the most mind-blowing stuff, but it is progress, and when I am writing, I am in the process of making something that would otherwise not exist.
Anyway. It’s something to think about. And, to be honest, it’s yet another reason why writing is a fabulous hobby, and why at this moment in time, I cannot possibly get enough of it.
PS - In fact, I have spent enough time writing today that the second I finished typing up this post, I immediately hit Ctrl + S to save it. LOVE.
I’m feeling pretty motivated for 1.40 in the morning, so let’s try and bottle this feeling for future usage, shall we?
- Red hair is probably my favorite thing right now
- I realized for the millionth time I want to be a writer
- Moving back to England is not only a possibility but I WILL make it happen
- Finally getting new music for the first time in AGES
- Raver chicks and their awesome neon dreads are kind of amazingly inspiring
- Tumblr is pretty
- —and full of really funny people.
- My friends are fucking awesome.
Okay. Time to go start reading my current fluff book. It may or may not be called Fitzwilliam Darcy, Rock Star.
One of the reasons I was never interested in politics in school was because of the immeasurable detachment I felt from the subject. It wasn’t so much that I felt I was incapable of having any effect on the government, but honestly moreso because I felt like regardless of whatever the hell the high-ups were doing, I believed my life would remain unchanged. There was a huge gap between Capitol hill and El Dorado Hills, and I assumed it would always stay that way.
Had the economy continued on the same course from the early 2000’s, I would probably still feel the same as I did in high school. I would have traipsed through college without having to rely on student loans and likely would have relied much more heavily on my parents as I casually aged from suburban teenager to adult. I wouldn’t have the complete independence I earned for the three years I lived in England, but as a trade-off, I would probably have had a job by now, four months after graduation. Instead, I’m lingering in a rather depressing purgatory of unemployment, in the special section cordoned off for humanities students that are more capable of writing a poem or analyzing Shakespeare than of landing a job to pay the rent.
I’m very lucky in that I saved enough money during my third year of uni to see me through these months of nothing, but that money’s about to run dry, and come December my student loan payments kick in. I also am lucky enough to not have to worry about rent, now that I live with my grandmother, who paid off her house in 1985 and still has the final payment check pinned on her noticeboard right above her electric typewriter. But that’s where my luck ends, and I am trying my hardest to not let my motivation sink to dangerously low levels.
You may or may not know that I have a tattoo. It’s a quill pen, done in gray-scale on the inside of my right forearm. I don’t blame a single person who hates tattoos, as it’s true that around ninety-five percent of the ones you see are absolute tripe. I also don’t judge people that think the symbolism behind many tattoos is ridiculous - lots of time this also is true. But I have never for a moment regretted my tattoo. It may sound utterly ridiculous, but it reminds me of what I love doing, and that is writing. I love writing more than anything. I see myself applying to countless jobs that make me feel a whole lot like this:
And I wonder why I’m unhappy. I completely understand that the number of people that get to do something they love is pathetically small, but right now I don’t even have a job. So what the hell is stopping me from doing what I love? Nothing. So it’s time to stop being bummed out and to do something with myself until somebody pulls my resumes out of the black hole I’ve been shooting them into and gives me a job.
Yes, those bills will start showing up, and yes, I’ll need to pay them. I’ll still keep applying, I’ll still keep wondering town hitting up every “Now Hiring” sign I’m depressingly both over- and under-qualified for until I find some paying work. But until then? I’m writing my novel. Because I’ve been putting it off for way to long, it’s the best thing I have going on right now, and it will get me writing again. And that, my friends, is something I definitely give a few fucks about.
Now it may not be the world’s most exciting list, but it’s what’s making my week doable right about now:
- My weekend
- The massive plate of spaghetti I ate Monday night
- The world’s sweetest cat
- Kicking ass at Mario Kart 64
- Kicking ass at DOA2
- Cheap beer
- Making friends
- Deciding not to settle
Life could not be better, and for so many reasons. I thought it best the world should know. =]