There’s a certain scenario that I’ve been imagining for… oh, several weeks now. In the scheme of things, this scenario is not that bad. I would have a place to live and food to eat, and people who care about me would be nearby. But in my head, I’ve been referring to it as the failure condition because I wouldn’t have the two things I want most. The two things I’ve been pursuing all year.
Though I said in my last real blog entry that I wasn’t going to be afraid, I’ve slipped. In fact, I’ve been a bit terrified. I don’t know what’s coming next–how I’ll feel tomorrow or the day after that–but a couple of days ago, having fallen asleep feeling absolutely desperate, I woke up to find that the part of me that’s been afraid seems to have broken, at least for the time being.
Maybe because of this, I’ve been able to think about what I want and why I want it. I want to be published someday, for instance, because literature is a huge ongoing conversation, the greatest conversation there ever was, and I want to be part of it. Maybe I’m not ready to add my own voice, and should be content to listen for a bit longer… or maybe, just maybe, it’s time. That’s one of the things I won’t find out for a while yet.
Even if the answer that comes back is “not today,” it won’t be the end. I can change and grow, and become more awesome. In the meantime, I just have to focus on the work. I have to ignore the little voice telling me that I’m alone and stagnant at the end of my rope, and that everything I believe about myself is true.
And now I have a story to revise.
(The title quote is from the BBC version of Sherlock, which I just got around to watching. It is brilliant and you should definitely watch the first season if you haven’t already.)