1. July. 2008 (original pub. date)
So, I think it’s safe to say that I am fucking up. And in a big way. I know, I know, good girls aren’t supposed to use that kind of language, but can we be real for a minute? Better girls know that sometimes, there is seriously no other way to say it. And the worst part is, as difficult as it is for me to admit that I’m doing it (actively, by being so passive), I don’t know how to correct it.
See, it’s what usually happens after you get something that you want—you eff it up. And I have, not irreparably so, but enough to make me quite ashamed of myself. And, shy though I may be, I’m not often ‘shamed.
I always say that it’s easy to dream and it’s even easier to talk about those dreams—what you would do if you could do anything, who you would be if you felt free to be yourself, where you would go, and how you would leave your trailblazing footsteps behind as a reminder for future generations that you were…something special. I’ve done my fair share of that kind of dreaming and planning over the years and, judging from the responses I’ve gotten, I give good plans. Great ones, as a matter of fact. Following through, however; is something else entirely. I mean, it takes a lot of work not to be mediocre, and for those of us who feel like we really have no choice (I’m sorry but some people just don’t have the constitution to be average), life is hard work. Consistently. And rest, well, I’ve come to believe that restful sleep is for those without a lot on their minds. I am not fortunate enough to be one of those people. The thing is, though, as much as I love my sleep (and I do love my rest), I’ve never wanted to be able to get enough of it. I’ve always wanted to be someone who always has something going on. A mover, a shaker, an international women of mystery, jet-setting off on a whim to cover stories no one else is writing about, because I am that good and because, well, because I can. I guess I just never realized that a dream job could be so much work and though personally and professionally rewarding, not always quite so pleasurable.
So, here I stand. I’ve been given an amazing opportunity to do what I want to do—write—about things that no one else is writing about, (albeit in NYC and not Anyplace, Worldwide…yet) and I just can’t seem to get a handle on it. I have little to no idea where these stories are (which may explain why no one else is writing about them), which sucks when finding them is the basis for what I do. I spent my second day on the job in tears and going into my fourth week, I don’t know that crying at this point would make it any better. I know what I have to do, buck up and go out there and get. it. done…I just don’t know how. And that, I think, makes me sadder than you know. I’ve built myself up to believe that the only thing missing in my life was the opportunity to do…and now I realize, I have the opportunity…so if I’m unable to accomplish…what does that say about me?
