Tuesday Morning 9:00am

In life, there are few certainties.  For one, we all die.  For two, we’re all in constant stages of transformation.  While it may take some of us longer to reach a particular milestone than others, we all greet some point in our lives with a glance back upon the path we took to reach level ground.   By watching my elders grow, I know that life constantly changes a person and the longer you live, the more different you become.
I am the prime definition of a late-bloomer.  However, had I sped through the early stages of my youth, I’d be living a life I was equally unhappy with.  At 18, I was glossy-eyed over Wes Anderson (still am) and was sure that becoming a writer/director was the only thing that could make sense of my life.  At 23, I was sure a doctorate in philosophy was the missing link in my life.  Now, at the turn of 27, I will be attending my first semester of school for a journalism degree.
One could say that had I done what I wanted at 18, I might be doing what I want now.  But, experience and the general knowledge that comes with getting older and coming to terms with reality tells me that film is an over-saturated industry full “knowing the right people”.
And with that in mind, an anti-social, shy hermit isn’t really the sort to mingle with folks of that nature.  I’ve been writing in journals since I was thirteen years old.  I have pages, upon pages, upon pages of sentimental crap encrusted in misery and mental plights galore.   But there are moments in those journals, when I’ve re-read them (yeah, I’m that sort), that I’ve truly amazed myself.   Because at the core of everything I write, there is passion and honesty.  You won’t really see it here as much, but my journals are the pages of my soul and everything I’ve ever suffered and contemplated lies naked in the binds of them.   I was blessed with the ability to form words out of insoluble emotions and I’d be an idiot if I thought a career in writing wouldn’t make me happy.
For a long time, I was (and still am) disappointed in myself for not making something more of my life these past 10 years.  But then it occurred to me, had I gone to school for film or philosophy, I’d have still wound up here.  Only, I’d be more in debt and feel like I’d wasted just as much time.  Philosophy is still a passion and a doctorate is something I would like to work towards but it’s something I want at an older, wiser age — after I’ve seen more of the world and have experienced my own theories.   What sort of philosopher can teach others of life without ever having left their island in the ocean?
My point is this: it doesn’t do anyone any good to feel bad about the things they haven’t done or didn’t do.  It simply takes recognizing that you are in control to change it.  And about all the “what if I had” or “why didn’t I” bullshit, forget it.  A chance you didn’t take created an opportunity for something else.  And no matter what the outcome, it’s ALWAYS something to grow from.

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