Dear Blog,
Have you ever had a moment? The instant in time when a thought strikes you that you can't avoid? Like the fall to Earth after slipping on ice? Or, for you, realizing mid-click that you're about to delete some you've worked so hard to create? I've had that moment. The time-freezing pause in life when the paradigm of my former life shifts to a strange new constant. The moment came from volunteering.
I'm not sure if you know this, Blog, but I'm currently an AmeriCorps Member. I volunteer ten hours a day at my local middle school (oh yeah, I live at home with Mom and Dad again; yay for the college graduate!). I get paid far below minimum wage for the work I do and I often feel vastly unappreciated. But I get to tutor seventh graders and run my own afterschool clubs. I take the good with the bad, as it happens. I often meet with students who are failing one or more classes and I offer whatever assistance I can. I don't do the work for them, but I remind and prod students every week until their grades improve. I help out in a Study Skills class and a Math Lab. I check over homework and reteach concepts. And for the afterschool bit, I run a Chess Club, a Minecraft club, a movie club, and often help out in the library, go Ceramics trips, and go wherever an extra pair of hands is needed. I've developed relationships with students, either through my adoration of Taylor Swift or my Star Wars collection on my test, or simply being a teacher who listens and does his best not to lie (Mr. Golden's first rule of tutoring is that I won't lie to you if you don't lie to me).
But within these past few weeks (note: I've been working this post since August 2012), the moment has been creeping ever closer to me. I felt the shadow in corners, heard whispers in empty corridors, saw glaces in classrooms. Despite the fact that I'm helping educate children, something I value highly on the grand scale of cosmic importance, I haven't found my place. This isn't my thing. I love to learn, I love to teach, but being a teacher for children doesn't seem like the right line of work for me. It's a moment that I definitely dreaded. I haven't failed. My co-workers would probably say that I succeed in a big way. But I dreaded this moment in time because I once again sit here in front of my computer and lack any sort of direction for my life.
It's a bit melodramatic, I know. But it's nevertheless a bummer. I sorely want to find the right niche for my life. Rather, the right niche that could provide a means of employment. Part of this desire stems from wanting to live on my own. Living with my parents is far from horrible. They get me food, wash my clothes, pay for internet, TV, gas, etc. They aren't restrictive in any sense of the word. They don't treat me like a child. I would just like to be on my own. In a way, moving out to an apartment seems ideal. Granted, I'd immediately miss high-speed internet, DirecTV, ample amounts of food, and free laundry services, but something about that independence I was so close to having as a college student living on campus is always at the back of my mind.
Another part of my wish for the seemingly elusive "right fit" for my life is to actually do something. I've fancied myself as a writer for the past few years of my life. But in reality, I don't write anywhere near the amount a real writer does. My days consist of working for the bulk of the daylight hours, then coming hour to watch videos online, play video games, and generally wasting time before I eventually slink off into bed and rest for a couple short hours before starting the cycle over again. I often think of things to write, but I've lacked the drive to put pen to paper. In all areas of my personal life, I've simply stopped creating for fun. Granted, while at work, I'm asked to create posters for various activities, write a newsletter, create "SNAPS" to congratulate people, and compose "Great Stories" to highlight my personal growth within the program. But these often are half-baked attempts at creation that oddly receive plenty of praise among my superiors (and plenty of jests from coworkers). I'm not a dry well, but I'm hardly pumping to my greatest capacity. But I'm not sure how to tap into the well and draw forth substance of any artistic merit. Heck, I don't know how to conjure pure drivel on command. Aside from those occasional projects at work, I've stalled in the practice of creation.
All of that, the light bulb heralding the lack of education interest, the craving for my own place, and the shocking lack of anything being created, came as a deluge upon me and my poor ark of a life. And I don't know how to paddle to safety. It's hard to drag myself from the slipstream pattern of work, watch, and sleep. Partly because this is the easy way. I don't need to think or plan. I just zone out each day. But the larger part in that fear of failure. Fear of trying and crashing. I haven't had a moment of true success in the field I desperately want to be a part of. I want to write stories and present them to the larger world. But haven't started because I haven't been given the green light. I haven't given myself the green light. I'm holding myself back because I won't allow myself to risk anything. Why? Because, well, the risks are too great. If I take months or years of my life to create something and have it die a sad and lonely death, I'd have wasted all of that time. Nothing risked, nothing gained. But nothing risked is nothing lost.
Which is the oddest thing. I refuse to take the risk because I'm afraid of letting time slip away, all while I waste my time in front of my computer, creating nothing. That moment. The flash of an instant, blinding my soul for a split-second. That is when I noticed myself. The unmotivated and dull husk of a dream. Gathering dust and letting his soul rot. I help my community by providing a resource to students who need an extra hand in school, who need the afterschool services I provide to grow and develop as individuals with unique and beautiful lives. But personally, I've let myself go. Given a few more years, I'd be lost to time for good. I'd be able to help others, provide a life for those I care about, and generally have good life. But it wouldn't be a full life. Not a lie, just a lesser truth from what I could have had.
But now I have a chance. I've seized that moment and I'm now holding on for dear life and soul. The stakes are high, but the odds are clear. If I don't play a hand, I won't win the jackpot. But I don't get to play if I keep my head down and play it safe. But if I decide to partake, I have the brilliant opportunity to create my own hand before throwing my chips on the table. The future is blank and I've given myself the mighty pen to change fate. It won't be easy. But as I told one of my students today, life isn't easy. The hardest parts yield the greatest rewards. Time to pick my prize and march forward to collect it.
Until next time,
-Daniel Golden
