If I were a truly rational girl and not the stubbornly optimistic one I am, I would realize how difficult a life of freelancing as a writer and interdisciplinary artist is. Then, I would swiftly abandon my dreams of never working an office job after my final college internship. I would change my college major and apply to grad school. But I am not fully logical.
I am earnestly imaginative and too hopeful. Everyday, I try to convince myself that my goals are attainable, so long as I constantly work toward them. In the spirit of a bona fide Type A, I don't slow down. I see the stars and I build a rocket, if only to get closer to them.
Even after I've crossed everything off of my daily to do list---written that final poem, typed up that short story, posted to all my blogs, created a collage, auditioned for that role---my mind jumps to other creative projects. I think up new poems and new stories and new collages and new characters to incorporate somewhere in my body of work. Sometimes I'm certain I don't know how else to live.
I don't mean this as some sort of disclaimer but I enjoy my work. In fact, most of the time, I would hardly call it work. It's more like an endless stream of fun challenges, if that's not an oxymoron. And even if it is, I'm not too concerned. I'm allowed my own set of contradictions, like everyone else---just as I'm allowed my dreams. I only wish that some of those dreams would evolve into reality.
I am earnestly imaginative and too hopeful. Everyday, I try to convince myself that my goals are attainable, so long as I constantly work toward them. In the spirit of a bona fide Type A, I don't slow down. I see the stars and I build a rocket, if only to get closer to them.
Even after I've crossed everything off of my daily to do list---written that final poem, typed up that short story, posted to all my blogs, created a collage, auditioned for that role---my mind jumps to other creative projects. I think up new poems and new stories and new collages and new characters to incorporate somewhere in my body of work. Sometimes I'm certain I don't know how else to live.
I don't mean this as some sort of disclaimer but I enjoy my work. In fact, most of the time, I would hardly call it work. It's more like an endless stream of fun challenges, if that's not an oxymoron. And even if it is, I'm not too concerned. I'm allowed my own set of contradictions, like everyone else---just as I'm allowed my dreams. I only wish that some of those dreams would evolve into reality.
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