I’ve been in a little bit of a funk as of recent. Nine times out of time, I’m thrilled with where I am in my life. I am on the precipice of the future I’ve been building since I was sixteen. I’m single and never compromising what I want when I want it. I have great friends who I can rely on for everything. And, my relationship with my family has never been closer.
But, as statistics tell, there’s still that one time out of the ten that things don’t seem so shiny. Those things which I hold so highly seem not quite as bright. I have a wonderful future set out for me, but I can’t quite seem to get things started, stuck in a dead-end job with student debt piling up. I’m single and I watch silently as my friends get invited out for coffee by the cute guy I thought was looking at me and my Facebook fills up with upcoming nuptials. I have great friends, but they’re are very few and far away, and those around me prefer me as an acquaintance that they don’t think to invite out on Friday nights. I love my close-knit family, but sometimes I feel suffocated by obligations and expectations to the point where I’m choking on the threads.
It’s no wonder that I find such an escape in writing. It allows to conjure all those things that seem lacking when I step into real life. I can transform dead-end scenarios into whole works of fantasy, where the dragon falls in love with the plucky sidekick.
I compose the future that I’m so desperately waiting for, my fate as a map in Times New Roman.