Sort of what this whole blog has been about—other than Britney Spears—has been young adulthood and growth and success and the lack of it and… I suppose just finding your own path, in general. In the inaugural post for the blog, I wrote that “this blog is for me,” but I don’t know that it has been, entirely. I’m a very performative person. I like to write things knowing that they will be read and appreciated. I thrive on feedback. I want to know people are listening.
And I think it’s been hurting me. Because it has been difficult for me to write. I haven’t been able to find the inspiration. Nothing has seemed good enough, or relatable enough. But I need to stop trying to translate my words for people who honestly aren’t reading anyway. Because I need to be writing. It’s so good for me when I write. I feel so much better. So I’m going to start doing that.
My feelings lately have been a poison I haven’t had a way of getting out. I’ve lost my way. Lost my direction. My life isn’t entirely what I expected it to be. I think I could be okay with that. I’m not. But I think I could be. I think I need to try to be. Because otherwise, it will never grow into something it could be, even if it isn’t what I think it should be.
I need to be writing. I need to be doing things for me. I think the past year I’ve been looking for someone to approve, looking for someone to tell me it’s okay that my life has turned out the way it has. I’ve been looking for someone to tell me it’s okay, to give me a direction, to help me figure out the next stop. It’s time to stop looking outward. I need to figure it out myself. I need to dive in.