Hello.
I had a thought and I thought I'd share it with you. And meanwhile work it out in my head.
Actually, it's been on my mind for a while.. But it hit me hardest last night while watching some little tribute type thingie on ESPN for Dale Earnhardt. And.. I listened to clips of him and others talking about his love of racing.. his passion.. I also have a friend who talks of his love for baseball. I admire it, I really do. To love something so much.. to have that drive.. I have another friend who paints/draws/whatever. Both told me I shouldn't be an accountant. The second one had told me, "You need to create." And that stuck with me. It plays in my head over and over. Just like: "Tell me what you exist for." Both little statements or whatever stay with me as I try to figure out what I want in life.. what I want to do with life..
I dunno.. I would love to create. Back in middle school, I was so sure of what I was going to create. I was going to create stories. Books and books.. novels and novels.. I wanted nothing more to be a writer. I loved reading. I read, like, nonstop. My mother would sometimes punish me when I was "bad" by taking my books away. I was constantly told I was going to hurt my eyes when i'd be reading in low light. [20/20 and still going strong, baby.] I remember.. every friday and saturday, my mom would play accordian and sing at a restaurant, Telly's, in the mall from, like, 5:30 till 8 or something like that.. during which.. I had to stay there.. it was not like I was permitted to have a social life or anything.. and most nights.. I would sit at a table in front of the restaurant in the food court.. and read. And I would even continue to read on the ride home. When it was dark out. And I had to hold my book in various places, trying to catch the light from the stores we passed by and any street lights.. I didn't care. I had to read my book. I had to know what happened, how it turns out. My eyes flowed so effortlessy across the words.. the story would become very vivid in my head.. I was glued to my book. Glued. Addicted. I had to read. I had to escape into the well constructed worlds of others.. and I was going to escape in my own created worlds.. I loved to get lost in a book. I loved the smell of a book.. I will still sniff a fresh new book to this day.. and I loved the feel of a brand new book in my hands.. as I broke it open page by page.. Yes. It was a love affair. A love affair with books.
But.. sadly.. I dunno.. sometime during high school.. it wore off.. I really have no idea what happenend, how it happened.. but.. it did.. and I would really love to get it back.. but.. 'don't know how. Now, I really struggle to read. I can't stay focused. I'll be reading a paragraph, or a sentence.. and by the time I get to the end of it, I'll forget what I read at the beginning.. Or.. I'll be reading.. and my eyes will drift off the page and out the window or something.. and I'll just.. zone out..
Anyway.. how did I get to this..? I was talking about.. I want to create, yes.. I want to have passion for something.. for what I'm doing.. something that fulfills me.. Ooo, now there's a yucky concept. Fulfillment.. Playing music, my clarinet, was the closest thing to fulfillment apart from Dan.. *shrug* I dunno.. I don't know what to do with that.. I should pick it up again, huh..? Join some band or orchestra.. But when would I ever find time.. especially now.. I gotta get another job.. gotta concentrate more on school.. 'n stuff..
I dunno..
LJ