Josh tells me not to quit my day job.
Rick calls to say he has an idea for a book. It will be about a boy scout troop on an adventure in a South American country. Surely I can write that, he thinks.
D says I maybe need to write only three days a week, not force something every day.
Slater requests that if I delete the blog I save what I have put here. I didn't say anything about deleting the blog.
I guess we could call this a crisis of sorts. The here and now contains even the friends who have kept silent along with all of those many little quotes I think I've heard. Shake it off, risk making a fool of yourself, hard work and diligence pay off. Yet here I am one year later in this space attempting to make sense of what I am writing and feeling about something for which I felt so strongly. For which I still feel strongly.
I want to write. I want to take beautiful pictures. I want to do it well and I am feeling incredibly insecure about the fact I have been coming here for a year and am not where I want to be with this. Those people around me, those that I hold so dear and close, know it. They see it. I have surrounded myself with family and friends who echo my own sentiments.
When I was a kid we had a Shetland Pony named Bess. She threw me and my Dad made me get back on her. With tears in my eyes I climbed on her but I never went back after that day. I definitely have some give up in me.
Maybe some days all I have is the willingness to get up and do and maybe for that day it could be all that I require of myself and maybe anything beyond that was me taking myself too seriously and maybe it is okay not to be where I hoped I'd be at the time I thought I'd be there and maybe I'll never get there and maybe that's the point.
This is when I hear Ellen in my head saying, it's all about the journey.
I am not giving up.
It's Friday and I am feeling like some Eddie today.