My most fatal flaw is that nothing I do is ever good enough. It’s the reason I was never ready to hand in a paper. The reason I was shifting commas before I submitted an essay and the reason I needed to take a shot immediately after submitting my thesis. It’s the reason why I have so many ideas but nothing to show for them. It’s the reason why I would never show this blog to anyone. It could be the reason why I may never accomplish anything great, which brings me to my commitment, my imperfect offering. Tomorrow is my birthday and I don’t want the next year to be one of stagnancy, I want to show the world that I am the mover and shaker that I was created to be. To start, I am going to commit to writing every day. This will be a space for expression and composition, but most importantly it will be a space for imperfection. An exercise in the realm of all things disorganized, chaotic and grammatically incorrect, an opportunity for me to stop waiting for something better and start acting.
I never realized how fragile I was, how dependent on the comings and goings of day to day life I am. I thought my story was bigger than that, I thought my value came from within, that if only the incessant white noise around me abated, I–along with my imagination–would be set free, and the world would be forever imprinted. Instead, the sounds have hushed only to be filled by emptiness. My days are passing and the world turns no differently. I’m no longer waiting for my letter from hogwarts in the mail, I’m going to pack my suitcase and make my own dreams come true.