I am a writer. I write to inspire others, to free my mind of the thoughts that never seem to have an end, and to understand myself. I like to think of my life as a giant, well thought out novel. Full of exciting rising action, perfectly-peaked climaxes, peaceful falling action, and a satisfying resolution. I hope for these predictable plot pieces because it is expected. It is planned. It has already been prewritten for me. I like to imagine my complete novel sitting on a desk next to a cup of coffee with a neat bow on top. Just waiting for me to turn the page and experience each chapter of my already planned life.

Nothing excites me more than when things work out just as I have planned them to. I’m a planner. I could tell you exactly how the next ten year of my life will map out. When I feel overwhelmed I can easily direct myself back onto my pre-planned path. When road bumps pop up on my nice little perfectly paved road my car doesn’t just gently bump over them, it crashes into them. In my book there is no such thing as road bumps, only brick walls that will leave my car smashed, with me in it.

What I have learned is that cars can be fixed, and bones can be healed. You might be left with scars, but isn’t that what makes us unique. Our stories are better told through our battle wounds than through our perfectly white canvases. Sometimes our unplanned pieces become our favorite moments; they aren’t always our easiest, but they are definitely our most defining. Life is messy, and it’s hard to come out of it unscathed.

I used to always think of my life as a final copy, but in reality it’s a rough draft. A rough draft that is meant to have dark red marks all over it. I am happy to report that very few things on my five year (and even one year) plan have come true. And my life is better because of it. I have surprised myself with opportunities that I would not have taken if I would have stuck to my structured plan. I have learned to use a pencil instead of a pen. And I have learned to love erasing and crossing out things so that I can write in something more breathtaking. The best adventures of my life has been the ones that I did not plan. So now I see my novel sitting on a desk, next to a half drunken cup of coffee, with lots of sticky notes, pens, and highlighters scattered around it. And sitting next to this beautiful mess is my nice, neat little bow, just waiting to be put on the top when I’m finished.