Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Sleeping to Dream

It's funny the things that motivate and halt you. Accolades and rage, heartbreak and love. It's even funnier when the same thing can both motivate and halt. And by funny here I don't mean something comical. It's more reflective of thought provocation and introspection than anything else. Laziness is my motivator and halter. It motivates me to be more productive, go after the things I really want for my life, the futures I know I can have. Then the magnet flips, the schizophrenia (multiple personalities?) blossoms and laziness becomes the halter. Really, it's a mask for all the flaws I house that I don't want to admit exist to myself or other people.

 Laziness = a lack of confidence in the ability I have to be successful in areas I know I'm talented in. Laziness = a clandestine desire to not ever have to live up to my full potential. It's a cliched phrase but I couldn't think of better phrasing. Case in point, I suppose. Laziness = fear. Fear of people being better than me at the job I want, at writing the kinds of books I want to write, at life in general. Because I honestly don't know that I'm very good at life. Of course you can never have life completely figured out, and if you think  you do you're delusional. You may want to get that checked out. I know people who seem to have everything they want from life. They know how to get it when they decide they want it. I know people who have everything in life and can never find the satisfaction so deeply desired. Kind of like Gatsby, I think. I fall somewhere in the middle. Certain things I want cannot be dictate by me. They are out of reach until further notice. Another thing could be within reach if someone from the big city would take a chance on an unknown kid from an ignored state. And really, I shouldn't lament. I've been incredibly blessed this year. I know how lucky I am to have been given the gifts I've been given, be loved as I am. For some even the simple act of being loved it a luxury that is usually asking too much of the universe. I've discovered that I'm sleeping to dream about my futures. Sometimes I do end up in New York City, working for Penguin Publishing and am the fasting rising star in book editing. Sometimes I'm jogging around Central Park, and there's the one where I work for Scholastic raising money to support philanthropic programs that provide books to inner-city kids. Because everyone should get the chance to learn to read. Then there are the times I'm still in Utah, but I'm usually dating a celebrity who's a celebrity in real life but not in my dream. coughJustinTimberlakecough. That really happened... In my dreams. And I can't forget the one where I'm on a tour for my book. Readings, book signings, press junkets. Jon Stewart recommending my book and six weeks of relatively little continuity yet relatively lots of repetition. I wake up realizing I need to work on my cursive and signature in case I do ever have to sign a book for someone. What a ripple effect this has taken. On the eve of nothing in particular my motivation to get myself into a New York State of mind is quelled by laziness. But what's it masking this time? Self-doubt? Financial frustration in the city? Lack of publishing industry experience? No, these things all lurk in my subconscious, but this is something I can't put my finger on. Maybe it's just timing.

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