... Yet scarily accurate.
"You, you put the blue back in the sky
You put the rainbow in my eyes
The silver lining in my prayers
And now there's color everywhere
You put the red back in the rose
Just when I needed it the most
You came along to show you care
And now there's color everywhere."
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Writer's block
Never in my life have I experienced the type of few months I've just gone through.
I'm sitting here, visiting home for the weekend, and I just can't stop thinking about my future -- and how it seems to have gone from completely illuminated with opportunities to now, just a dismal, faraway pulse.
Always have I adored and enjoyed writing. Until now, it seems.
Journalism was the double-sided tape that kept my high school years together; it was all me, all success, all the time. Now, I'm a freshman again. And the food chain is much more difficult to swallow up to the top.
It seems my career path, which has been so solidified for such a long time for me, has disintegrated beneath me. Writing and reporting feels like a chore. It no longer excites me. And this really scares me.
But I feel like I'm not just losing my passion; I feel like I'm losing my voice. Writing has been the biggest outlet for me; it has relieved my stresses, illustrated my dreams, quelled my fears and embraced my insecurities. I feel as if some moment in time between now and my high school graduation, writing and I have abandoned our relationship. This is the scariest part.
I find myself in bouts of extreme sadness that I cannot properly or healthily release. Yet, writing has not been a comfort, in professional or creative terms. That is what has me so lost.
And as I sit now in the bed I slept in for most of my life, which I have now abandoned for a dorm room bunk, I realize I really don't know what I can or will do to fix myself.
I'm sitting here, visiting home for the weekend, and I just can't stop thinking about my future -- and how it seems to have gone from completely illuminated with opportunities to now, just a dismal, faraway pulse.
Always have I adored and enjoyed writing. Until now, it seems.
Journalism was the double-sided tape that kept my high school years together; it was all me, all success, all the time. Now, I'm a freshman again. And the food chain is much more difficult to swallow up to the top.
It seems my career path, which has been so solidified for such a long time for me, has disintegrated beneath me. Writing and reporting feels like a chore. It no longer excites me. And this really scares me.
My motivation seems lost somewhere along the journey from Tampa to Gainesville, and I'm not sure where to look for it or how to coax it back to its rightful place. My passion seems dulled, like it needs an espresso shot... or seventeen.
But I feel like I'm not just losing my passion; I feel like I'm losing my voice. Writing has been the biggest outlet for me; it has relieved my stresses, illustrated my dreams, quelled my fears and embraced my insecurities. I feel as if some moment in time between now and my high school graduation, writing and I have abandoned our relationship. This is the scariest part.
I find myself in bouts of extreme sadness that I cannot properly or healthily release. Yet, writing has not been a comfort, in professional or creative terms. That is what has me so lost.
And as I sit now in the bed I slept in for most of my life, which I have now abandoned for a dorm room bunk, I realize I really don't know what I can or will do to fix myself.
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