What Am I Doing?
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What Am I Doing?

"She was a great writer because she lived courageously."

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What Am I Doing?

“What am I doing?”

It’s become less of a question and more of a statement to myself every day. I’m not sure if it’s a telltale sign of growing up, or if it’s just me questioning my every movement. I’m lucky enough to have picked a career early on, and know exactly what I want to do, but I want to do something.

I want to be someone.

I want to have adventures.

I’ve started trying to set some realistic goals for myself this year. Things like watching a whole season of “Girls” in 24 hours, eating McDonald’s only once a week, and writing an entire novel in 365 days. You know, just common stuff. The novel, the novel is killer, though. I watched a movie one time and a line really stuck with me…

“She was a good writer because she lived courageously.”

It’s stuck with me and it’s beginning to wear on me as I write this novel. Have I lived courageously? Do I live courageously?

I want to experience crazy and wild things, stuff you tell your grandkids about (and some that you don’t). I want to see museums and eat a croissant in Paris, France. I want to view the Alps in Switzerland (definitely won’t be climbing them, too many croissants) and step into the Baltic Sea. Crane my neck up at the London Eye and laugh on the ferry to Staten Island. Cry at the Sydney Opera House and be out of breath walking across the Great Wall of China. See the Taj Mahal by moonlight, and watch the cherry blossoms bloom in Japan. Drink a pint in Germany and watch sheep graze in Ireland.

And then I want to sit down and write. I’ll write every detail and describe everything. I’ll have leather-bound journals full of pictures and descriptions. Full of happenings and the beauty of the humans I come across. The pages will be filled with ink splotches of food and memories.

They’ll call me adventurous and maybe even courageous. I’ll sail the seas and walk by the mountains.

I’ll take it one step at a time and fill my leather-bound journals one by one.

My novel may not take just 365 days. It may take years, but it’ll be beautiful. It’ll touch and move people. Emotions will crash and climb.

And then I’ll know what I’m doing. I will no longer question myself and my short-term goals will again consist of Netflix and McDonalds. My novel will have been completed long ago, and I can settle knowing what I have done. I won’t feel unruly and light footed, and I will wake up and read the paper. I will sit on the porch and read my paper, looking out over the hills of Texas. I will wake up and go to teach, I will laugh with my students and help them learn.

I don’t know what I am doing now, but I know what I am doing later.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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