I got to thinking about my journey. And your journey. Life is merely a journey we all embark on, everyday. It’s a journey of strife, of love, of acceptance, of faith. You cannot plan your journey, but you can choose the doors to open and the windows to escape from when all the doors have shut. And not everyone will accept your choices. The windows you choose to sneak out of may not be what they would’ve chosen. Sometimes the people around you won’t understand your journey. They don’t have to. It’s not for them. You can never compare journeys. You must simply do what is right for you. And with that, the strife will become smaller, the love will become deeper, the acceptance will become more clear, and the faith will become more real.

I got to thinking about mistakes. Are we better if we make mistakes? Are we more competent, more creative, more aware? Do we become a closer version to our destined selves? Or do we veer off the path and just hope to make it back on track? Should we make it back on track? Or is life better, easier, more liberating if we do something different? I’ve learned that mistakes will lead us where we should be, where we want to be. But you must learn from your mistakes as well. Make a lot of mistakes. You’ll be forced to grow and learn and see the world in a  better way. And that’s the only thing that matters. Truly.

I came across this wonderful quote from Barbra Streisand recently. I thought I would share it. “I don’t think anyone should underestimate the power of their own voice… you are the women we’ve been waiting for.” I’d like to think she is talking about me, too.

I got to thinking about the dreams of children. I know that children dream of becoming ballerinas, astronauts, actors, and the like. I know this because I told my parents at age five that I was going to be an artist. This was never attainable, given that my stick figures need serious work. But at age eleven, I knew I was going to be a writer. And I haven’t wavered. I know that being a writer is also a child’s dream, but that’s how I know it is real. It’s what I’ve wanted to do before I was cynical, before I was afraid of failing. The innocence of my dream is utterly real and cannot be denied. While becoming a writer isn’t an easy thing, it is my dream. It has been for twelve years. That has to stand for something, right? I sure think so.