It was November 2013 when I began taking my writing career to the next level by querying agents and late December of that same year when I began working with my CP. Today is about nine months later. Where am I? Am I any closer to reaching my goals? Although I believe my writing has improved, I don’t think I’ve done everything I could to get myself closer to getting an agent. I’ve been letting the mundane activities and upsets of life drag me down, almost to the point where I’ve hit a road block. All I do is peek over the wall and see my bright future ahead, waiting and beckoning, angry and impatient at my lack of urgency. Urgency. I used to have urgency but I’ve allowed it to evaporate from my heart. I need to soak it all in again and move forward like I’ve got only one year left to live. If I knew I had only one year left to live, how would I live my life? With urgency. Hunger. While cutting away at all the bullshit stirred up by fear and insecurity and countless reports on the benefits of sleep. Fuck sleep. I can get all the sleep I want when I’ve made it. I want to change. The desire to be different and readjust my pace from languid to unbridled enthusiasm sits at the edge of my brain, ready to make the leap, but I’m holding back. Holding back to everything while living half a life. And maybe that’s where I’ve realized something: the storms in my personal life are choking my writing, creativity, and passion.
If I’m not willing to risk it all, then why choose to live at all? I’m not getting any younger. The more time I let go by, the angrier and more insecure I become. I just want to scream into the universe and say, “Fuck it, I’m gay and I don’t give a fuck what any of you think about it!” Who would have known that staying in the closet could be so toxic to not just my life and relationships, but also to my creativity? That fear of people knowing spilled over to my creative life and stopped it from blooming completely. Stopped me from pushing myself to the lengths that I knew I needed to go, lengths that I knew I could reach but never attempted to reach.
Fear suffocates. Shrivels the soul into dust. And that’s what my heart has become: dust. All because of the fear of everyone knowing. It was time to stop being afraid. Time to stop walking on my tiptoes, always fearful to offend. Time to stop living half a life, for goodness sake. It was time to stop giving the world just a portion of myself when what the world really needed was all of me. And I needed the world, people from my everyday life, to have it all. I desperately needed to stop hiding.
I’ve decided to stop hiding. Because you know what? I really, really want this: to live.