So we watched 'Home Movie' in class. Some major nut jobs, I gotta say. But I get it. These people are following their passion and it reflects in their lifestyle and home. What stood out to me the most was the quote at the beginning. I can't remember it enough to actually quote the quote but it said something about the things we surround ourselves with in our home being an autobiography. I've always seen homes and decor that way myself. The whole thing really makes sense to me and where I am right now. Last year I decided to sale my house and move from the small town I've lived in for most of my life to Indy. I want to start over, simplify and make new and be in a completely different place. I did some work on the house, packed up most of the non-essential things (most of the things that give a house personality), painted the rooms neutral colors, and have my eye on a new place. And my house hasn't sold. So now I'm living in a place that doesn't look like my own and doesn't feel like it either, and I feel stuck and unable to move foreword -- literally and figuratively. I don't know if my feeling in a rut with my education and future are a reflection of the living situation or if it's an actual effect. As a writer, my surroundings have a big impact on me in many ways. And I feel like my life is somewhere else. Happening without me. And the momentum that was driving me to change my life completely is evolving into irritation and discouragement.
As I watched a crocodile hunter living in a floating house, all I could think is, 'what's the zoning and taxes like for that'. And seeing an old woman in a tree house in Hawaii with beautiful views and a waterfall in her yard, my main concerns were the last time that lady wore a bra and how long before she couldn't climb those stairs. Truth is, I'm jealous of some lunatics. And the old me, the one bogged down by what I wanted but didn't acheive is seeping back in attempting to drown the me that I've been building the last few years -- the one trying desperatly to seize new possibilities and not give up on what I can be.
I feel like all I get right now are questions about my future -- where I'm going and how I'm getting there, what plans I have to get there and what things I've already done to get me there. And it also appears that the further along I go, the more behind I seem to be. I'm disgruntled. I'm VERY disgruntled that my oasis that is this class, the place that I had to retain my sanity and rebuild my inspiration, has now become the same evaluation of goals. ARGH! The truth is I am disappointed with everything right now. I came to school to learn how to do things I thought I wanted to do in the future. Instead, I'm expected to already know them and just do them. It feels like a constent uphill battle and is the reason I gave up the first time around. Why do I have to fight to learn?
The second truth is this -- whatever is happening within my life, it's happening for a reason and that is for me to evaluate what I really want and can do and will be happy doing. And the only thing that has made me happy so far is writing. I can try to escape it and find some other form of stable employment, avoid the fact that I am terrified I will never be published or have a script purchased or even finished, or I can go back to what I am good at. So fine.
This leads me to time. This semster has been a catlyst (sp?) in so many ways. All the self-evaluation and also the employment issues have been consuming. I began the semster with a full-time job and 12-14 hrs a week on the road with no time for homework. I left there when I saw how badly my grades and sanity were suffering but can't find another job. I also recently decided to change majors and when credits were evaluated, discovered that only one class (this one) that I am currently taking will count toward anything. So I dropped the rest and now I have a REDICUOLOUS amount of time on my hands. Finally, enough time to have no excuses for not writing. So yesterday I got on a website my BFF told me about (forcefully) for National Novel Writer's Month. It's set up to motivate, assist, push, and cajole you to write a book in one month's time -- November. Now. So I started yesterday. It's a goal.
Time is subjective. It's all in where we are, where our mind is. When I was younger, I felt so pressed. There was so much I wanted to have acheived by a certain point. A point that has come and gone. I used to whine and lament that but there's no point. I do fear wasting time because I've had periods of having NONE to spare and I want to utilize what I have. But I think God has really shuffled up my life and tried to get me to examine and just enjoy moments that I never saw before because I refused to allow myself to just do one thing at a time. Or nothing. Or I got stuck in nothing and wouldn't do anything. I don't fear the passage of time anymore. I guess I fear looking back at what time I wasted.
What's most important to me? I don't know anymore. I guess I'd have to say figuring out what's most important to me is what's most important to me. I have a hunch it has something to do with finding what will make me excited about living. I need an Eat Pray Love moment (without the hedonistic self-absorbed crap that ends in the revolation that a man completes me). I want to marvel at something and be swept away. That is all.
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