Starting something new, exciting, worthwhile. Something promising of a new start, wiping the slate clean, and only taking with me the things I need. In which days seem somewhat better once I can exhale and take out a pad and pen and diligently move forward. Moving forward by writing further, deeper, harder—to where the writer’s cramps ache and the daylight ceases behind tree lines; where streetlamps take turns shaking themselves awake.
It’s a beginning that I’ve never taken before, a path untrodden but that requires little more than absolute faith in my ambition and trust in my capabilities. Standing at the starting line, I can only describe my feelings with excitement and underlying fear. Fear that something, somehow will jam up, cease to work, and increasingly demand my stagnant lifestyle.
I’ve grown to know that when you want something so bad, the world doesn’t conspire for you to have it. Instead, it throws in excess hurtles to not test your resilience, your drive, and your ambition, but to ensure you forever appreciate it once you make it. And you will make it. Your life depends on it.
An update to come in the springtime when I foresee receiving a number of phone calls and emails. And by 2015, perhaps… Well, perhaps things will be a lot different then.