Dream/Potential/Success Deferred

Earlier today I went to look for a notebook, knowing that I had many lingering around the house, to dedicate specifically to my poetry, stories and ideas whenever I’m not in the mood to type it on my computer, phone or tablet. I thought that the majority of my work had been left either in my hometown or on my previous computer that hasn’t been in working order in nearly a year. I knew the whereabouts of at least two of my notebooks. I didn’t expect to find seven.

These notebooks are not all full of poetry. One of them I used for work to take notes and keep track of my time. One of them I used to keep track of some of my freelance assignments from a few years ago. Another I mostly used as a journal. The thing they all have in common, though, is that at some point or another I used them to jot down whatever thought came to my mind, whether it was a poem or a sentence or rhyme that I could flesh out at a later time. My scatter-brained self has poetry spread out all over the place. Essays and stories in random places of my work notebook. All of these thoughts written down never to be thought of again, until today. I read a few poems that I wrote just last year, but couldn’t remember writing them. I wrote them and continued on with the distractions that I have yet to resolve. It made me think of what I could have done differently in the past, where I had gone wrong in pursuing what I thought were my dreams.

At this point in my 26 years, I have held several jobs. I have carried two children, but lost one of them. I have had my heart broken. I have been disappointed in both myself and other people. In the job category alone, I’ve gained enough material to write about for at least two or three books; however, the closest to my heart would be the disappointments, which is intertwined with the jobs. Not just jobs, but businesses. Hopes of financial and overall freedom. Still have yet to attain. I attempted over the years to push my writing into the eyes of the public, but the irony was that I was always afraid to actually attach my name and face to any of it. I wrote under pseudonyms, usually a variation of my actual name, and found random images on the internet to represent me; flowers and peace symbols. I dealt with this fear of rejection and though I can’t be totally sure, that might have something to do with the broken hearts I had experienced in my personal life. Then I made some extremely questionable decisions, which led to my dreams, potential, success and overall freedom being deferred. In those seven notebooks (in which I personally find spiritual significance being that the number seven is the biblical number of completion) I have finished and unfinished poetry and three stories that need to be written. Any or all of those could lead me to exactly where I want and need to be.

Adversity is an ugly monster, but conquering it is the best feeling in the world. Fortunately, I’ll be entering my 27th year soon, so I still have a good portion of my youth to end the delays. There’s so much to be said for making every day count. I look forward to my next birthday, but I know there’s always a chance that anything could happen. I know of people who graduated high school after I did and have passed away. But I have seven notebooks currently in my possession of which I am aware. I have OneNote installed on my smartphone and my tablet, which houses several poems and random thoughts. I have a few things saved on my computer. And who knows how many notebooks and binders I have packed away in boxes. There’s no purpose in putting your dreams on hold or refusing to pursue them at all because of adversity, regardless of its size. A broken heart, the death of a child or even the prospect that you may not make it or you may be recognized, but a starving financially bankrupt artist as a result. There’s something to be said about staying true to yourself and your God-given talent. I am reminded of the movie Field of Dreams where it was said, “If you build it, they will come.” I believe that everyone, even the seemingly worst of the worst (rapists, murders, etc.) have or, at some point, had some good in them, something positive that they do well. We just don’t all choose positivity or are ever exposed to positivity. In my mind I hear, “If you write it, they will read it.”



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