just words: unwritten

As a little girl, I always wanted to be a writer. I never wanted to be anything else. I envisioned myself holed up in a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere, feverishly churning out written works of art that would make the New York Times Best Seller List. So I took what I thought were the necessary steps to get to where I wanted to be: I excelled in my high school AP English courses, I majored in journalism in college, I accepted any freelance opportunity that came my way and I honed my skills by attending workshops and conferences. Then I grew up. I became an adult with responsibilities and financial obligations and a boisterous little boy following me around calling me Mom. And my dream of writing became just that—a dream. I had allowed it to become an unattainable fantasy that was collecting dust in the back of my mind. But deep down, there has always been that little girl in me that secretly thinks she can change the world with just a computer and the thoughts in her head.

Unfortunately, on the surface there’s a woman who sometimes struggles with bouts of uncertainty. I don’t doubt that the ability is there, but with the advent of text message shorthand, magazines filled with more advertisements than articles, and the ability to broadcast your thoughts in 140 characters (or less), I often wonder if my God-given gift of creating compelling composition will ever translate into a meaningful contribution to the world we live in.

When I started words & wardrobes, my aim wasn’t fame—I didn’t aspire to design handbags or star in television commercials or partner with big-name brands. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m into fashion and definitely wouldn’t turn down any of the above-mentioned opportunities if presented to me, but all I wanted for was someone to witness how effortlessly my thoughts flow from brain to keyboard to computer screen and present me with a chance to make my dream a reality. Delusions of grandeur, I know.

Here’s the thing: Ten years ago, I never would have imagined that I’d be where I am right now. I had a plan, a blueprint for the life I thought I would be living at this age. But I’ve spent the last year enveloped in a cloud of unbearable uncertainty and apprehension and anxiety, unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I feel like I’ve lost a lot of things in the last year or so, and on more than one occasion, I’ve found myself curled up on the bathroom floor in the fetal position bawling my eyes out* and questioning everything—my life, my purpose, myself. (Yes, I can be a bit of a wuss sometimes.) But really, I just want to write. I want to be the woman that I imagined I would be—the accomplished, award-winning author. But I’m scared. The circumstances are ripe for me to do great things, but fear has me paralyzed. Stuck. Afraid to make the one move that could completely turn things around for me. I know I just need to throw caution to the wind and go for it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

I have the tools. I have the drive. I have the talent. I have the support. I have the time. Now the only thing I need to have is the courage to get out of my own way...

*I’m joking about the whole fetal position thing. However, the tears, which came complete with blubbering speech and gasping breaths, were very real. Hey, I’ve already copped to being a wuss. What do you expect?