I'm feeling very rusty.

I am feeling very rusty. Yes, I write tweets, blog posts, comments, and long winded e-mails, but the assignment of writing 1900 words is taunting me. Why in the world did I think I would enjoy a writing class?

I guess it was because... what I want to do most in life leaves me with more fear than desire. And I'm the kind of person that likes to keep growing. So it just seemed like the next thing to conquer. So I signed up, forcing myself to type type type in the dark night once again. All week I've been feeling that anxious stress that I felt for four years straight. I miss my calm happiness. I miss my lazy, not so guilty TV nights. Now I finally understand what it is to have a guilty pleasure again. It's the anything that takes you away from your homework. (Or other various responsibilities, goals, tasks, obligations.)

I went to a speaker - panel - writers' support group - session tonight. It was just that. Four professional writers up front, attempting to express their charm and wit off paper while the 20 of us in the room gazed at them in confusion. I'm not sure if they were encouraging me to pursue my dream, or slowly hinting to find a new one. "It's tough to pitch. It's lonely to stay at home. You never feel like you write anything well."

I'm thinking I want to keep at my 9 to 5. And continue pondering about all this writing stuff. And I think I'd just like to read more. Think more. Write more. Bah. Those writers really confused me. I can't wrap my mind around it all yet.

I guess it just seems that maybe the grass is always greener. Or maybe it just depends on the person. One of the writers was especially happy with his success. Another was especially happy with his non-success. And the others were just continuously striving to do more. One seemed always let down. The other seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders.

There are no rules. And I think I like that. And I think I like the idea of essays / memoir better than reporting. But who knows. I've never really tried it. I've got a lot to think about. Yup. A lot. I don't know if it'll ever make any sense. But a lot of the time writing it out helps. Thanks for helping me think.

we write wish lists.

even though its not christmas, we write wish lists.

we shop and dream, and price and compare. some items are desired gifts, meant to be received, while others we will most likely gift upon ourselves. either way, the wish lists paint a picture of our focus. the material checklist, if fulfilled entirely, would represent the [timestamped] ideal self, accessorized and outfitted, prepared and ready for the world.

the word to highlight here is timestamped. most often wish lists are never fully satisfied before a new one is made. we grow and change, and trends do as well. some items may transfer over, but the rest are usually laughed at and forgotten.

when i really pause to think about it, there's not much else to be had. now i aim to create a list that lasts, but i realize that such a wish list will never be complete. (nor would i like it to be.) i'd like the list to keep growing, to keep defining, and i'd like to see & strive for things that will stick with me. i'd like to discover and make mine the things i'll regret never seeing / touching / feeling.

so yes, maybe i'm now talking about a much bigger list with (less shoes and) more experiences, but truthfully, there was a point in the last few months that the lists did change in exactly that way. and i realized that if i stare at the wish list too long, it becomes outdated even faster. time passes and nothing is accomplished. we can't wait for our lists to be entirely fulfilled in order to be ready and prepared for the world. we have to make wish lists that send us out into the world.

i like my current list a lot. i'm loving where my numbered wants seem to send me wandering.