This is a status update. It contains no witty discussion about User Experience, there are no embarrassing stories about mistakes I’ve made, and it is solely concerned with an epiphany of my character. About a change I recently discovered.
I like to write. I tend to write a lot. If I’m serious about it, it’s long form print on cheap laser jet paper. If not, perhaps I am typing it. I like stories, the potential of the concept, of characters, of pushing people to experience new things.
I started writing, seriously, in high school as a means to get the stories out of my head and more importantly, to get better at English. I had always read a lot but writing was difficult for me. I am one who tries to not run from difficulty but to overcome it. In one aspect, this isn’t something I will ever truly win but I think it is fair to say that I have accomplished the original goal.
Almost a decade ago I came up with an idea for a story. I began constructing the characters needed, the setting, plot points, and such. I started writing it and twenty pages later realized a problem. My current skill level was not sufficient for the story. I was still lacking, I could feel it. I couldn’t do justice to what the story demanded. So, I shelved it. I would work on a different story and when I finished, I would come back to it being all the more ready.
At this spot in my life, I wasn’t moving towards any real goals and I didn’t know what I wanted to do. So when I started the next story and it started to get really good, I felt like this should be one of my life goals. You know; finish a novel style thing. It took a long time to finish it. I don’t know when I exactly started this one but I think it’s been 5 years.
In the middle of this, though, I decided to go back to school and get my masters. This was a huge life changing event. This goal of finishing the novel changed, it was still there. It was still a story that needed telling but finishing it wouldn’t have the expected results. I could feel that I had moved away from this. Which makes me feel just a little tinge of sadness, to realize that past goals don’t have the perceived rewards they used to or are meant to.
In 2015, I finished my first novel length story. Faux Heterochromia Iridum. I’ve been transcribing the story from my 120 pages of long-hand scribblings to the typed format people seem to like. (Weirdos) And I now feel prepared to tackle that first novel I tried oh so long ago but this update isn’t about that. It isn’t about Faux really either, it’s about that change in self.
I have goals for my life, lots of things I want to do, accomplish, attempt, fail at and so on. In getting my masters, I had lost that age old friend who had been holding my hand all those years, Trepidation. There is a strength in who I am now, proven by the accomplishments I’ve made and the problems I’ve attempted.
I keep saying and you need to know, it isn’t about success or failure. This is all about the journey, the path we take. When I look back to that person, it is always me standing there, slightly hunched with a smile on my face. Today, it’s still me with the same look but my goals have different inflections. I think my new goal going forward will be to remember this and not shy away from what is a truth about who I am. Succeed or don’t, just keep pushing.