“You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart ” -Steve Jobs
Me and Stevie singing at one of my very first days of Quinipet in 2012.
I love this picture. It was taken in June of 2012 at one of my first days at Quinipet, the summer camp I’ve spent my last two years at. Going to America was probably one of the scariest things I’ve ever done and getting up on stage and singing with my friend only made it scarier. I love this photo because it reminds me that I can do anything. That I am brave. That I am strong. That even though I can’t sing, it doesn’t mean I can’t entertain. That every negative has a positive and every cringe worthy moment is a memory. That saying yes is always better than saying no and that sometimes, just sometimes, singing total eclipse of the heart to a bunch of giggling camp counselors can really change your life.
As I near the end of my university experience I find myself feeling rather cliche-ingly confused. From a young age I have always believed social work was were my heart was and in a way I still do. But as the 6 month mark draws close, I’m starting to wonder whether there is more than one path that we can take. I went for a drink with an old friend recently and after a few drinks he said “it really annoys me that you do social work when you have such a natural talent for writing” referring to my poetry. Naturally I was flattered but I don’t believe that I’ll ever be a successful writer or that I have any particular talent for it. Despite this though almost all of my free time I spent reading, writing, watching poetry and entering writing competitions. Six months away from being a fully qualified social worker and I can’t help but wonder why I’m not reading social work books or reading up about cases. Is it possible that in our efforts to do what we believe is our “dream”, we miss what we’re being called to do.
As a little kid I used to sit for hours writing lyrics for songs and performing them for my family, at 10 I had my first published poem, at fourteen I started my very first poetry journal. Maybe our dreams aren’t what we choose to do nine to five but what we do in our time. Volunteering and scribbling poems in old copy books, sketching people on the bus on the way to work, planting flowers in the back yard, strumming on an old guitar. Yet for some reason we refuse to allow ourselves to be our dreams. Refuse to allow ourselves to become that person.
But why not? What do we have to lose? There is no second chance at life. There is no tomorrow. Tomorrow is an illusion. Don’t put your happiness off for another year or another month.
If you want to travel the world then travel the world, find a way, make it happen. If you want to paint then paint, save up, buy a colour one paycheck at a time. If you want to write then write. write everything that’s in your head until there’s nothing left, scribble into your journal at the back of lecture halls, make up poems in your head while your pulling pints and if its shit, then start again.
And remember that you are brave, you are strong and sometimes, just sometimes, writing in some amateur blog you created one Sunday afternoon can really change your life..
This is breathing 