In the exploding world of the wide web, I’ve always been blogging. I’ve had several 0f them over the years, either a type of journal and/or a communication medium to keep in touch with friends.
This time is different. Very different.
For months I had been dissatisfied with my lack of productivity, and my knack of complacency. Living in a small town has had many amazing benefits, however, what it was lacking was a wide variety of experiences. Therefore over the course of my life, I’ve been left to my imagination.
This is when I tell you about my project right? No, not yet. Right now, I tell you a little bit more about me, and how all of this started…*deep breath* Ok. Here goes.
So I grew up obsessed with stories. As soon as I could read I would spend my days in books. If I wasn’t in books, I was in pretend worlds with my siblings. Our adventures could take us anywhere, from the prairie’s of the west, or to Sherwood Forest with Robin Hood. Our minds’ eye gave us tickets to dungeons, caves, castles, airplanes, submarines, forests or deserts. The worlds of my mind often felt nearer than the real world.
This was a deep comfort to me as I grew up, because, well, for lack of a better way of saying it, I was an ugly duckling. Not only was I awkward and gangly, but I was a wild tomboy and unattractive. So, my deep secrets of being beautiful and liked were kept and lived out in my stories, which continued to develop as I unlocked yet another source; Writing.
Now, I did ‘normal’ out a bit. I was telling the truth when I said I was an ugly duckling, but once my braces and glasses came off, and I was actually able to put a brush through my hair, (that took till I was 15, at least) I became…well, pretty. I was still awkward but my style developed (around 18) and I grew into my gangly arms and legs and my personality. I didn’t need the stories like I once did. The real world was accepting me.
As the world continued accepting me I still was having a difficult time. I didn’t realize that I had become pretty and likable, I literally didn’t believe that people could truly like me for who I was. But it wasn’t the other people who had issues, it was me. I couldn’t accept myself for who I was.
Therefore I continued to delve into stories. I lived my life through the stories of people I wished I could be, or at least in their adventures instead of mine, ‘cause let’s face it, being a normal girl in a small town didn’t seem like a great adventure to me. So instead of creating the life that I was wishing for, I was wasting mine away by reading or watching others live theirs.
Sad, I know. But things were starting to change for me. Over the past few years, I could feel an uneasiness creeping into my gut. Uneasiness with myself, and as that feeling grew my life sort of fell into shambles. Everything was out of place and I was unable to feel happy.
Well, that’s enough of that. This is what happened in a really quick nutshell.
I knew that things needed to change.
First of all, I needed to do something with my life. Not wish it away.
What does one do when they are trying to find their life purpose?
Well, in my case, it was finding out what I truly loved to do.
Write. Duh.
I knew that when I was six, but somehow I had forgotten even though I have thousands of pages of evidence to convict me otherwise.
And I thought finding what I wanted to do was the hard part.
Pfft. That was nothing compared to the next daunting question.
What was I going to write?
My Before and After Pictures
