I am banging my head against a wall in the name of livable wages with decent benefits. However, the dream I have been hiding offers me none of those things. At least not as I pay my dues. So, I wait. And then I step out to another first kiss of chance. It’s sweet and a homecoming, and it feeds every bit of my soul. I’m proud and fulfilled and I’m the kind of fly I want to be. Because it’s the real me. Then, I go home. And the shit storm begins. Obligation and possibility collide. I’m a hot mama on a hamster wheel, people. Finding time and new ways to make words a successful career is an infuriating addiction. I know better than to stop, though. Squandering my gift is both self-destructive and a sin.
This is not about going hard, or hustle, or focus. We often tell ourselves we need to push harder, be stronger, work more diligently. This is about faith. In what I know I’m supposed to do and what I know I am responsible for (kids, bills, job). I half-ass believe the two don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but half-ass don’t cut it when it comes to risk. No one arrived at a tipping point being coy. I know I cloud my path more than any life decision ever could. The mind is a mean muthafuckah. I got a great heart, and I so wish I would listen to it more.
What do you do to push past your fears and follow your heart? Throw Betty a bone before I end up lookin’ like Oprah in Women of Brewster Place.