As I attempt to answer the age old question that we all ask, I decide to light my invisible cigarette (since I don't smoke), and prop my feet up on a garbage can under my work desk.
I have stories that must be freed in order for me to breathe.
Besides the fact that I have gained 25 lbs., and my pants are too tight, I seriously can not search the web anymore on my down time, here, at the office. That's right, folks. I am a full-time, long-term temp at a huge financial bank (of which we will call "the tall building hut"). But as long as I am sitting here, not having any work to do, I will create work that must be done. The work that has, is, and will be working on and on and on in my life. Excuse me as I throw out my invisi cig.
Have you ever felt like the voices surrounding you pressure you to find your dream as opposed to an unfolding dream authentically coming from the place of who you really are?
I'll give you an example. I am thirty five years old. I never really thought about my age, until someone else pointed out to me that I don't have kids and that my biological clock can only go so far. Suddenly, my age slapped me like a newborn not knowing where I was. Except, I am crying, because someone else is reminding me of what I should have in the timeline of Society.
My brilliant sister would argue that it is scientific. Our female bodies produce eggs for only so long before it gets difficult to conceive. My body maybe ready, but I am just not ready.
I'll give another example. I should have a steady job, where I get the complete package of financial safety: nice salary, great benefits, paid vacations, etc. BUT I'M A SINGING ACTRESS.
I know you can't hear me right now on a blog to prove it, but I have a nice acting resume fo broadway shows. I made decent money. I worked with talented people. But did I save and invest? Nope. Thus, I encounter the dilema of being slapped like a newborn. WAAAAAAAH. Why didn't I save money from all the broadway shows I performed in? Why was I so afraid to pay bills or even face a statement? Where did I throw such good money away? Again, people say that at my age, I should already be comfortably snug in my job of choice.
I could keep going on with examples of my thirty something plight of "where am I? who am I?"
But that would defeat the "purpose" of my "purpose".
As I light land my tingly feet on the ground because it lost circulation from being propped up on the garbage can, I say, being grounded, in this new endeaver called a blog:
My purpose is to explore every story that I choose to free in my little jail of thoughts. Choosing the right words can be limiting since there are a million ideas dancing around per seconds. Yet, it is just enough for me to use from the over flow of misdirected thoughts to the discipline and simplicity of that right to choose those words.
I choose right now: I have purpose.
