I know I brought up my birthday a lot recently, but like, yes, it also reminded me I'm older. I graduated from a prestigious college, and I often feel like I disappointed it. Spent most of my adult life struggling to make ends meet, while my friends worked government jobs, dream jobs, better jobs.
Last winter, I really understood I was wasting my life when I watched this YT series by a busking group pursuing their own dreams. I was already planning on writing, sure, but I wasn't serious about it until I was halfway through an episode, when I asked myself wtf I was doing.
So I decided this year. *This* year, I'm doing it. And then things went sideways. This time, not my fault. I don't want to be angry with the person who did it, yet a little bit I am, because he left me on read all summer and into fall too. To figure himself out.
Lately, I've been struggling with the idea that I wouldn't make it. That this will never be done, or it will be, or I'd never dig myself out enough to keep going.
So here I am. In Bryant Park, with that tweet, pages open to a new plan for the middle of the book.
I can't say if I'll make it, but knowing that I haven't missed a chance will keep me going just a little longer. And that's what I needed right now, I think.
If any one book I wrote at like 24 was published with a huge wunderkind publicity blitz I would today be ten years dead from having WALKED INTO THE SEA
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So here I am. In Bryant Park, with that tweet, pages open to a new plan for the middle of the book.
The door isn't closed yet. Just keep going.