Currently riding on the bus on my way home, I had a thought about time.  Why is time so complex to me?  I  was thinking about why it took so long to decide I wanted writing to be my career. I am currently 22. I always thought I was a late bloomer but am I really? I know that’s a young age but with the friends and people I am around with they discovered what they wanted to be from their high school years. I always had a jealousy towards that. “Why I can’t I figure it out?” I always said .

Sometimes I wonder why writing became a greater appeal entering my adulthood. I remember when Melissa Murray, our CEO, told me she was starting the company. I got some excitement from that when she told me to get on board. I wonder where that excitement before though? Was it hidden in the wall I put up thanks to the ones who doubted me? I had writing achievements since a child, did writing programs but I wasn’t excited. I was just doing it because writing seemed like a good way to past the time and a safe way to rant about everything without looking crazy. Perhaps with my life events that I faced in adult hood so far has changed that perspective. I had a lot of exciting and terrible times that led my fingers to write and write until they cramped up in the last 2 years. I really don’t think it matters what age your life starts to come together. Some people probably don’t get their “calling” until 40. At least it happened right?

There’s a reason why my life headed in the right direction in what seems like a late start to me. Maybe I had to go through some real fucked up wrongs to be able to create more. To get me in that head space to make art. Timing can really be off, weird, random at times but maybe instead of driving myself crazy over thinking about the complexity of it,  I should let things go as they are. Whatever the timing may mean it has shaped me into the kind of woman and artist I would like to be. Embracing the growth as it comes. Just a thought…