Life really bugs me.

Well, no.

What really bugs me is the realization I made at the beginning of freshman year that, for the rest of my life, I'm going to have to keep proving my worth to everyone I meet. I realized that, in a way, everything I did in high school, I did in part for the wrong reasons. Partly, I was so involved and worked so hard because that's who I am. I tried doing the non-involvement thing last year, and it was miserable. Now I'm over my head in activities and such again, and as rough as some days are, it's infinitely better than not doing anything and not being involved at all, though, I had probably needed that downtime given how burnt out from high school I was.

But part of the reason I was so burnt out in high school is because I kept thinking I had to. Getting into college is so competitive, I needed to keep doing all this stuff, to be such a perfectionist, so I could have the privilege of choosing a college, and not depend on a college choosing me. In the end, I probably went to the least selective of all of them. But also the cheapest. But that's neither here nor there.

At the beginning of last year, I was thinking about double majoring, and I didn't know what to do. I thought I might want a writing-based career, but then I realized that a) I didn't think I was good enough a writer to succeed or even live by writing, and b) I didn't want to spend the rest of my life submitting my work to someone else to have them tell me whether or not it's good enough. And to make a living by writing, that's what you need to do. Whether it's an editor telling you whether or not it's good enough, or the public telling you whether or not they like it, writers make a living not by enlightening through their works, but by being judged whether or not it's good enough, and I don't think I could live like that. I don't write for anyone else but me. It's my thing. I don't think I could do that. The only way I possibly could, I think, is as a critic, but a) that's such a difficult field to break into, and b) I don't think I could be okay with a life of writing about other people's work. I mean, I could, but only if I kept creating myself, and I don't think I could do both.

Notice any trend throughout all of that? Yeah, the whole me thinking thing kind of keeps getting in the way. But what happens if I don't think about that? I don't know. I've got too many interests to devote myself to just one. Maybe I'll hope one of my friends gets really rich and gives me the capital to write and publish myself. Muahaha. I'm going to have to marry rich. Except I'm mildly certain I'm not going to marry at all, which kind of throws a wrench into that plan.

So I keep thinking about all this stuff, and then stopping and realizing, wait. I should just stop thinking and worrying about everything. Whatever happens, happens, and as long as I don't just sit around on my ass waiting for things to happen, everything should just fall into place. Everything works together for good, right. (Though I can't get rid of the nagging suspicion that that's the kind of idealistic assumption that's going to be my downfall. Damn being a worrier by nature. Damnit.)

"Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.
If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas.
For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction.
Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing;
And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes."
- Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet