She sits in her dining room, head in her hands. She is crying. She just got off the phone with her manager. “More time” she hears, over and over. “Just be patient”. It can be draining. But it’s the people that crack under this pressure that make this the city of [broken] dreams.
What do you do when you think you’ve done all you can, when you think you’ve gone as far as you can, when the rest seems out of your control. I feel like I’m trapped. Wanting so badly to be actively working towards my dreams, but in order to get to that point, I need to overcome the little obstacle of time- time, and other people. I feel I’ve done everything I could up until now, I’ve worked my butt of for 3 years, and I just want to come to the top of that mountain and be able to say, look I made it, and I’m going to keep going up from here.
I just want so much from myself. I believe in myself, but I want more from myself than I would ever imagine. If that makes sense. I mean, I’m constantly doubting myself, telling myself I’ll never make it- but I still put those pressures on me, the pressure to succeed. I want to, so so badly. But I don’t even know what success is. I have an idea of some things I’d like to accomplish throughout my career, but if I accomplish all those, does that then mean that I am “successful”? What is success?
Thinking about it makes me feel. And I’ve talked about it before, but I haven’t felt in a long time. Emotions sort of just left. But this is one thing that I can tell I’m passionate about, because thinking about how badly I want it, makes me cry. And I don’t know if I’m crying in fear that I won’t make it, or if they are happy tears because I believe in myself, or just tears built up from so much emotion surrounding it. My career is my everything. I want it so bad and would do anything to ensure that I do what I want, so that I can give myself the life I deserve, and to give my family the life they deserve.
Thinking about all my career goals and daydreaming about what I would be doing just fills me with such passion, I feel the warmth wrap around my heart, the pressure pushing on my stomach, the light pull on my spine, deep breath in, deep breath out.
I want to succeed so badly, and I have been working my booty off for the last three years to try and get to where I want to. And it’s going to take time. It’s going to take time, and it’s going to take people that don’t know me to give me a chance, to take a risk, and believe in me. Hopefully that day will come soon.
She won’t be the one to crack. She won’t allow it. Her fire, her drive, her passion won’t allow it. She won’t stop until she’s at the very top. She won’t stop till she has complete control- of the game, of the time, and of the people.
10.5.2013 It was natural, it was easy, it was life. She rushed from one side of her apartment to the other. Grabbing a piece of toast, throwing the pillows neatly on the bed, swinging her Kate Spade purse over her shoulder, and finally jetting out the already locked door.
It’s been a week. One week in my new apartment, one week since I moved out, one week since I’ve been on my own. And you know what, it hasn’t been bad. Tears have been minimal, butterflies have calmed down, and the days go by just like they’re supposed to. I feel good. And I haven’t felt this way in a while.
Before moving, I had a lot of doubters [I still do. And truthfully it’s the moment that people stop doubting my crazy ideas, that I’ll get scared]. People saying I wouldn’t like it, saying I couldn’t expect it to be a magic fix for all my problems, saying that I should really re-think my plan. And I haven’t had to deal with that sort of thing very often in my life- normally people just go along with what I say and don’t really put their input into my decisions. So when I had people saying I wouldn’t make it, that scared me. It made an originally easy decision, much more difficult. In my mind, it was the only choice- I needed to move because I needed a change. Staying back at home wasn’t giving me the motivation to make that change. And I knew this.
I have a good sense of myself. It doesn’t take me long to decide whether I like or dislike something [or someone. Really, let’s be honest here]. Last year when I moved into my dorm room, the very first day, I knew it wasn’t right. And this year was the same, except for instead of knowing it wasn’t right, I knew it was. The very first moment I stepped into the empty apartment, I knew that it would be my home, and it was a moment of reassurance-knowing that all the doubters were wrong, and that I, had made a good decision.
Even though the living room is fairly bare, and the couch is uncomfortable as all bleep, even though my pantry has 4 empty shelves, and my walls have no art, it’s still my home. I furnished it, I decorated it, I am paying for it, and I think that’s what makes me love it so much- it’s my baby and it’s the first time I’ve really and truly ever had to do something for myself. This is all mine. And it’s the reason I am able to go after my dreams. This little apartment is the liaison between me and the city of [broken] dreams. Every morning I wake up knowing that so many people in this city, are fighting for what they want, fighting for their dreams. And I’m one of them. And the funny thing is, I’m not scared. I’m motivated. Once again, trying to prove all the doubters wrong, trying to do this for myself.
Turning towards the door, she double checks the lock. Looking up at the apartment number, 8B, she smiles, knowing that this simple combination of one number and one letter means more to her than most things do. Because this, was her home.
9.29.2013 Sitting on her new bed, fingers neatly placed on the keyboard, she looks around at her new home, home sweet home. All white with pops of light pink and silver, described oh so fabulously as Pinterest chic, it was simple, it was cozy, it was glamourous, it was all her.
I don’t know what to say. It’s the first night, in my new apartment, living the real adult life. And there’s always those first “whatever” butterflies- first date, first roller coaster, first night at the new apartment- you know the ones [now these are not to be confused with the pre moving butterflies]. They’re the kind that flutter around your belly, engulfing your chest, working its way up to either tears, or a smile. Luckily, my butterflies are forming a smile.
I truly believe that everything happens for a reason. That no matter how bad something may seem, it’s okay. And last year at this time, I was in tears. While the other new college freshman were out partying, I was crying to my dad over the phone- saying that it didn’t feel right, that this wasn’t your normal homesick sadness, that I shouldn’t be feeling that way. And now [I don’t wanna run through my whole life story so blah blah blah things happened whatever whatever, let’s go to now], I’m sitting on my bed, in a new city, with new people, and a new outlook. Last year things sucked. I didn’t think that I would ever be able to “move on” and grow up like a normal person, I thought I was weird- why was I the only one who seemed to crack under the pressure? And I still don’t know why, but what I do know is that had all of that not happened, I wouldn’t be here today. Had my dad forced me to stay in a situation that was not a good one, I wouldn’t be sitting on my bed, in a new city, with new people, and a new outlook. I don’t know where I’d be, and I don’t want to think of what could have happened. Instead, I just know that what did happen, happened for a reason.
Now, I want to use these writings to be able to see where I’ve come from, and all that sappy inspirational junk. I want to be able to look back and remember what it was like on my first night in LA. Whether or not this new adventure works out, really doesn’t matter to me. And as stupidly cheesy as this sounds, it’s not about the destination, or the ultimate end point in my life, it’s about the journey and all of the wonderful little adventures that go into it. And this is just one of them. And I’m feeling good about it.
She leans back onto the two pillows she brought from home [and took note that she needed more pillows to make it more of a snuggly space], and grabs a hold of her ratty but loved blanket. She looks down and smiles. The little girl that cried when her mom left her at Kindergarten was now a grown up- living her own life- and it all was going to be okay.
She bites her lip and stuffs the last box into the back of her little car. Holding back tears, holding back a smile, hoping it’ll all be okay.
I’ve been here before. Sitting on my bed [still no pants, you can’t make me do anything], fingers neatly placed on the keyboard, thoughts rushing through my mind, staring at the dark blue of my Tumblr dash. But tonight seems different. Tomorrow I embark on what seems to be the biggest journey of my entire life. I packed up my world, and I’m taking it to Los Angeles, the city of [broken] dreams. And before I was scared, terrified actually, but tonight I feel different, I feel hopeful. Yeah, it’s going to be the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. Yeah, it’s going to suck really bad for a while and I’m going to be alone and crying and feeling horrible for a while. But, I’m kind of okay with that.
And no it’s not that I’m okay with being sad, because I’m not. But I’m ready for those tears, and those incredibly sucky thoughts. It’s kind of like I”m sitting here thinking, go ahead and feel sucky-I’ve heard it all before. And I like that. I like going into all of this, feeling kind of prepared. And I think that’s because I know what it’s like to feel that way, I know what to expect, and I think I know how to handle it.
This last year has been a wreck. I was a wreck. I still am a wreck. But recently I’ve had to learn some things. I’ve had to grow up. I’m not a positive, optimistic person- and probably never will be. But over the last week or so, I think I’ve grown. Part of this process is being honest. So I’m going to be honest with y’all. I’m not going to sugar coat anything- and you have to be okay with that.
So here are some of the secrets to life, or whatever you want to call it, I really don’t care. I’ve come to realize that it does no good to dwell on the past and think of how incredibly sucky your life is or how bad your friends are, or how horrible your job is, or how much you hate your dog. Get over it. And I know how hard it is to say that to yourself in those moments at the peak of your pity party, but it’s not going to do you any good to sit around pouting to yourself all the time. You have to make the change. No one else is going to do it for you. Everyone in this world is so self absorbed and crazy [like I said, I’m not sugar coating anything], that they could care less about your issues. Sure, there will be some people who are genuinely good human beings and actually can be of emotional assistance to you- but believe it or not, you are probably the best person to help you. No matter how bad you think you are, no matter how much you absolutely hate yourself- you are the only one, at the end of the day, that will be there for you. So stop pushing away the only person that truly matters [that’s you, in case you didn’t pick up on that].
And I’m not saying all of this, and saying that magically I’m healed and all things are good and sunshine-y in the world, because it’s actually far from that. Things still suck. I still have bad days, weeks, whatevers. And I’m still just as screwed up as I was a year ago. But I think even though I’m still a complete mess of a person, I think I can get through it. And I think that’s the first time in a long time that I’ve truly thought that, that I truly believed everything was going to turn out okay.
So, back to now. I’m sitting on my bed [still no pants, we have obnoxiously established that point], staring at the dark blue of my Tumblr dash, but this time it’s different. I feel the same as I did last year when everything came falling down on me [see Miley Cyrus’ Wrecking Ball music video for a visual of things falling down- ignore the sledgehammer licking and the naked Miley Cyrus]. Things still suck and I am still a screwed up human being. But I feel more hopeful, for once in my life, I actually somewhat believe in myself. So I’m going to build this back up, one brick at a time, and if it all falls down again, it all falls down. And that’s okay.
I guess that’s my real secret, that it’s okay. It’s okay if you try something and fail. It’s okay if you fall off the beam at your only good gymnastics competition. It’s okay if the guy you like doesn’t like you back. It’s okay if you don’t get an A on your history test. It’s okay if you don’t do your laundry for two weeks and you run out of clothes and have to wear footy pajamas outside [that one might not be, but we’ll pretend it is]. It’s okay to be happy. It’s okay.
She drops the last box accurately labeled “Junk and Stuff”, into her empty white apartment. She looks out onto the Los Angeles city skyline and bites her lip. Holding back tears, holding back a smile, she knows it’ll all be okay.