A hard place

I hate that my first blog will be about what's hard, but isn't it always the hard things that push us back to what we love? I love to write. I love the stability I feel when the words begin to flow, and so I find myself here at the computer, aching to pour words out.

For some reason, I have found it hard to do what I love during a time when my day is mostly wasted on the things I hate. So blessed long since I have written for the sake of it.

I am disappointed in my new job, but also in myself. I had a boyfriend once tell me that my propensity towards quick, life-changing decisions scared him. I suppose that is what took me away from him physically at first, and ultimately forever. It was a legitimate fear and one I should have paid more attention to, perhaps. I made the decision to return to the south where I grew up, after a blessed year out west, because a single job was offered to me. It looked decent on paper-- mostly the benefits, not the pay so much; but it was twice what I had been making in the restaurant and it was a regular paycheck. Now I feel miserable, but at least with the hope that I am not trapped here in this job or in this city.

I want so much to own my life. It seems that I have allowed it to belong to people who think they know what is best for me. I have come to that point of growing up where I don't feel as though I have to listen to everything other people think I ought. I need to make some big decisions all by myself, even if they are mistakes, so I can establish my own life and know that I have done a thing by myself, for myself.

I like being on the road, where my day-to-day actions aren't accountable to other people.