Career?

Recently, I read about two people in my online community, who were in the movie industry. Once several years ago, I chatted with a girl who was studying forensics and was going to be an FBI agent, at least she told me that. Who knows if it was true? She didn’t seem to be fibbing, that’s all I can say.

Anyway, finding out about these people, who seem to be fulfilling their potential made my anxiety hit even worse. It’s like twisting a knife in a wound. And no, I’m not envious. I’m glad for them. They must work a whole lot harder than I could force myself to, the way I am now, and they probably have a lot more talent than I do, so it’s not going to happen to me anyway.

It’s just that reading about people who have great careers, even if they’re not famous or anything like that, hurts. Hurts more than if I just read about people who make a living. I’d be glad to do that too, if I could, but it doesn’t hurt because they’re just running the rat race like everyone else, not realizing their dreams.

The thing is, I’ve never had much self confidence and I’ve always been a low energy person. Some people might say I’m lazy. Let them. If it makes them feel better about themselves, they can knock themselves out.

You see, I suffer from this fatigue. And pain. Depression, anxiety. You name it, I got it. But explanations don’t really help. I want to do something that makes me if not happy, then at least a little glad. A little content.

I guess that for some people, even the most basic things that most people can take for granted will always be out of reach. All my life, people have been saying things like ‘it takes hard work to make it’. ‘Just go for it’. Etc. Ad nauseam. Sure, I’d love to work hard, if I knew what at. I’ve just never known. It’s like I’m blind or something.

You probably don’t want to know what it is that I’d like to do, but this is my blog and I’ll tell you anyway. I write. Make up stories. Having my novels published would be great. Someone, a journalist, who was kind enough to read one of my stories, thought I should try to get my stories turned into movies (or tv series, I guess). That would make me feel great.

Failing that, I’d like to work in a bookstore, library, museum or archive. All that would be fun. A magazine maybe. Possibly a daily newspaper, if I got to write a column on the last page. Fluff. Not the kind of thing with a deadline that really feels life threatening.

Still, it seems that what the world has to offer is working with people. Not really what I want to do, but sure, I can do it and I do. Believe me, I’m grateful for every chance I can get to make a little money.

I mean, I’m not a plant. Sunshine and water won’t keep me alive. Sunshine? Yeah, that stuff we had last year. Water we do have. It falls from the sky all the time, so if I could live on that alone, I’d be home free, but well, that’s not how it is.

So, to sum things up. I’m here, not doing what I want to do, and having not the faintest idea of how to get there. I guess I got lost somewhere along the way.