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| I hope there's a McDonald's on the way. I'm peckish for future nuggets. |
Yesterday was interesting. Having been effectively crammed into my old room after leaving the world of 9-5 (and thus the world of regular pay) for a few months now it became apparent that this wasn't just going to be the short stay I'd originally hoped for. Unless a sudden influx of new clients came in desperate for my irreverent, slightly surreal copywriting skills, paying the rent on a new flat was going to prove a problem. Maybe I could manage a week, perhaps a fortnight if I sold an organ.
With this in mind I had to get to ACTION. See how I capitalised that word there to give it extra impetus? Don't do it. It's bad. I could tell you that every day if you paid me.
I opened all the cupboards that had been filled by my 18 year old self a few years ago and discovered an absolute plethora of complete crap that I had obviously deemed important once upon a time but what now just looked like potential recycling. To the bin, memories. You're not welcome here anymore! I found old clothes, old books, old toys (I played with them for a good few hours, the process took longer than expected) and old notepads full of things I'd written down about the future I wanted for myself. I read up on dreams I'd had, ideas I'd created, an incredible concept for a story just scribbled in the corner of a page somewhere that now has a couple of paragraphs typed up in a Word document. I'll finish this one, you wait and see. The former me that had been suppressed in boxes and drawers suddenly jumped up and filled the air around the current me who was sat being reminded of how things used to be. It was both amusing and occasionally distressing seeing how so much hope, so much ambition and so much imagination could just be forgotten about for the sake of an average wage and the apparent idea of a successful career. This idea was reinforced further by a conversation I'd had with a distant relative at a recent wedding, where upon me informing said relative of my decision to pursue writing as my life I was asked what it was I would really be doing instead. Fortunately there was a free bar. I coped.
I think over the past few years it's been very easy to forget what it is I really want. I've been swept up and carried off in a number of different directions that I've tried to tell myself will eventually lead to the destination I desire but have ultimately dumped me nowhere near. Admittedly these other directions caused a much happier reception from those distant relatives who so doubt me now, but what do they matter? It's time to stop caring how others feel, because ultimately that just holds you back.
The future can be whatever you want it to be, and whether that's a world full of such awful cliches like the start of this sentence (or the last one about caring how other people feel, that was shit too) or a world much more exciting depends purely on how we all go about our lives today.
Make things happen. Do things that people said you couldn't. Write cheesy blog posts about it that really won't help you achieve anything but will make you feel better at the time.
The world is your oyster. Crack it open and get busy.