When there are no boundaries on your imagination, but severe boundaries on your practical possibilities, you find yourself unable to move.
Or at least I do.
Work is sketchy right now. I was unable to work for several months due to being crazy, and now I feel like I could work again, but in surveying my prospects, there are too many of them. I could continue to work in editing, which I enjoy, but has an uncertain future. Or I could take on paralegal work, which is a lot less fun but pays well. I could try to turn this blog into something. I struggle with that one. I don’t know how to be useful to my readers. My only hope is to connect with you on a personal level, and I’d rather not be selling you anything.
But if I can create something useful and offer it to you, maybe that’s not so bad.
I like making traveler’s notebooks and inserts. I find them helpful in my day-to-day. I keep a paper planner and journal incessantly. It helps me to write fewer of these directionless posts.
I suppose right now I’m being very honest. I feel lost. I want to go back to school, but I can’t take out any more student loans. Part of being an adult, I suppose, is setting the direction of your life yourself. I thrive with outwardly-imposed boundaries and struggle to create my own. I feel like I’m drowning in possibility and cannot move forward with anything.
And the judgmental running commentary of voices in my head (the Committee, as I sometimes call them) barrages me with all the reasons I should not pursue anything at all. Too scary. So many things could go wrong. I already mess everything up. (I do not mess everything up. They try to tell me that I do, and I sometimes believe them.)