When I think about how much I want something, it's usually a feeling that consumes me entirely. I live by the thought of one day reaching that desire and claiming it.
Some people may call it a dream because in a way it is, I usually find myself thinking about it most when I'm alone or surrounded by people who care too little about having an actual conversation as opposed to having their eyes glued to their phone screens.
Of course, lately this has been happening more often than not and I ask myself if it's really a dream.
If something is so prominent in my mind, my form of escape, my happy place, doesn't that mean I can actually live this life I 'dream' about? And if so, what's stopping me?
About two years ago I watched a film Written by Chris Colfer, and directed by Brian Dannelly and throughout the entire hour and a half I kept thinking within me "this is my life."
To wrap it up in a summary, the film was about a boy living through his torturous senior year in High School and wanting to get out of his small town. He was the president of the school's newspaper and writer's club as well as the only person interested in the two and he took them far too seriously for a guy his age. (Which reminded me a lot of myself considering that through all of my years in high school all I wanted to do was write editorials and take pictures instead of spending time with actual people.) The boy accepts the fact that he is an outcast because he understands that he was never made to live in that town, and his actual purpose in life was to wonder around large crowds and converse with business minded people.
That's what I want.
Being a writer and expressing myself to my highest capacity has been one of the greatest gifts I have ever received in life because it gives me the opportunity to be different.
As I get older, I realize how predictable life may become if you allow it to. After all, we are the ones who must set our own standards why not set them to as high as we wish? The sky is the limit.
I used to blame my lack of social excitement on the fact that I'm an introvert but I'm coming to accept the possibility that it's not my introvert side that prevents me from being like the rest, it's my personal radar and beliefs.
Why should I pretend that I'm comfortable around people that will never be interested in what I believe or the idea of being different from one another? Since when did social circles become cults, and outcasts become shunned? What happened to swimming against the current, and when did civilized discussions become unheard of?
I crave intellectual conversations about music and novels, about personal empires and what it takes to truly find happiness within myself.
There never has been and never will be a doubt in my mind that I belong somewhere else.
I don't know where that place is, or when I'll get there but I will say that I'm on my way.
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