rachel's diner

This Time Around

2006-08-30 @ 3:25 p.m.

For once, I'm going to be honest. I'm going to flat out say it like I've been feeling it, say it like I've been thinking, say it like it is.

I act like I have my shit together. What do you want to be when you grow up, Rachel? Oh, that's easy. I want to be a self-supporting songwriter. Give me another one; I'm good at this answering-life-questions-on-the-fly thing. Do I believe in God? Of course I do! Except when I forget that I do, and I run around like a chicken with my head cut off, petrified that something won't work out or will work out but not correctly. What do I like about myself, you ask? My confidence! I am supremely confident that everything will work out in the end for she who plans. Except that while planning, I'm actually convincing myself that my plan won't work because life is messy, so I make four hundred and two backup plans, just in case. Then at least I've got better odds at predicting my own future, even with such unpredictable variables such as the weather, current political climate, and the not-to-be-forgotten-or-underrated Other People's Lives.

When you boil away all the excess fluff in my life, there is very little residue remaining in the pot on the stove. I have a mediocre talent at writing, and mediocre talent for singing. I once thought that combining these two into songwriting would be the best choice for my career. And now I'm not so sure. Now I'm not so certain, so convinced that I have what it takes. I talk big but dream small. I have no idea what I want for my life, honestly. I just know I don't want it to be ordinary. Or if it IS ordinary, I don't want it to feel that way. I crave excitement with every fibre in my being, and I long for connection with people through really good mediums, such as music or writing or the arts. Even science.

I used to be convinced that somehow, I would find a small, tight group of brilliant people (of whom I might be a part) who would constantly keep me raising the bar and keep me asking the tough questions...who would make me dig deeper into this existence of ours. I suppose as proof of my ineligibility to be a member of such a group, I just had to look up the spelling of "existence" to ensure that I am not the dolt I truly believe I am 99% of the time.

I don't have things figured out. I don't have a group of friends like that. I have a small assortment of various friends who, together, in a perfect world, might make up that group, but they are separated by geography, creed, religion, and all things diverse, so it might take an act of the God I try to believe in to get them all together. Lately, I spend so much time alone that I sound like a hypocrite claiming to want that, anyway.

I spend time alone seeking solitude, something I generally do not have during the school year, but instead I just feel like the odd girl out. I'm the strange one who would rather read books about other countries, listen to good music, and daydream about the ways I wish my life were. For all my talk about wanting to get to Nashville and make it in the music industry, do you know what I really want to do?

Do you?

I don't really either. Don't feel bad. The only thing I can think of that I really want to do is to go to Ireland. I want to go to Ireland by myself or with a certain dear friend of mine, and I want to check out all the rural areas. I want to drink in pubs with friendly strangers. I want to make friends all over the globe. I want to write. I want to be a writer more than anything else in this world. It is also the thing that terrifies me more than anything in this world. The thought of writing anything of consequence that would resonate with a reader is terrifying. I'm terrified I wouldn't know where to begin. I know how to sing. I already know how. And that's enough for me. I wish I had known a long time ago that I would feel this way, so I could have been an English major and learned to write. Maybe it's better this way, though. Maybe I had to get the music bug mostly out of my system in order to find my true calling. Maybe getting an English degree would have ruined my love for literature. All I know is, I've wanted to be a writer since I was seven years old. I may love to sing, but singing doesn't leave me as elated as writing even a mere sentence that is well-crafted. I want to be a writer. To be able to set my own hours for working, to have a dog, to have a process that is uniquely mine and no one else's. To have the freedom to write what I want, what I envision, what I dream. That is what I want. And I guess I've taken a bit of a rambling road to realize that, but I'm still a few days shy of twenty one years old. I've got time left to figure it out, Lord willing.

On that note, I'm going to go read for class and then head to the bookstore. I need some good literature right about now.

*Lyrics from "Io (This Time Around)" by Helen Stellar used for educational purposes only.