I'm lost. Or, I have been lost. I've come to the endpoint of seventeen years of schooling and found that I'm still poor, still directionless and still scared - just like I was before I graduated with my degree. Today, a very no-nonsense person in my life told me to snap out of it. Just snap out of it. My first thought was, "Well, it's easier said than done." But that's cowardice. And I've always been brave. Like, weird brave. Example: when I was in high school, I was not cool. I was skinny and knobby but not in the right places and I had crushes on boys who were way out of my league in the social hierarchy of secondary school. But at every dance, without fail, I was able to muster the courage to ask the boy I liked to dance. And they always said yes. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'd like to think it was my confidence. I was fearless. I went for what I wanted. Sure, the next Monday I was just as tongue-tied as ever but I would smile to myself, remembering my bravery.
So it's like that, but bigger now. I've got the boy, now I need to get the life. I'm a writer. I didn't realize it until this morning, when that wonderful, sweet, no-nonsense person told me to get off my fucking ass and make it happen. Her words, not mine. And it's funny, because my friends have been describing me as a writer for years: "Oh yeah, my friend Serena is a writer." Really? I thought, is that really what I am? Yes. Yes. So I'll try and maybe I'll fail but who the fuck cares? I can be a professor or a receptionist or an entrepreneur any old time, but I want to be a writer now.
I guess the point of this self-indulgent little tirade is that this blog may become less about fashion and more about whatever I feel like writing about. I'm going to be self-indulgent, but I'm also going to kick my own ass and stop shying away from my biggest talent and passion just because I'm afraid. Fuck that.
And for my second act of self-indulgence, I put up this secret from Postsecret. So. True. Ha!