I think that’s the hardest/scariest question you can ask yourself. Because most of the time we don’t want to admit how badly we want things that seem perpetually out of our reach. I felt that way when I started writing my first novel. I sat on the remarkably uncomfortable window-seat in my bedroom because that seemed fittingly romantic for an aspiring author. I stared out the window, craning my neck up towards the stars, and gripping my knees while my heart clenched so tightly it was hard to breathe.
It’s entirely possible that I was having a full-fledged panic attack.
I wanted to be an author that badly...and I didn’t believe I could do it.
There are still days when my impostor syndrome kicks in and I become convinced that I can’t write worth a damn. That I’m a hack and my career is going to flame out before I even turn 24 years old.
So what is it that I want?
I’m not sure where to begin!
I want to be brave. Fearless, even. I want to react confidently when I think I hear something go bump in the night. I want to put all my cards on the table. To tell people exactly how I feel and trust them to love me back. I want to stop comparing myself to others.
I want to be stronger, smarter, kinder, prettier, and all around better than I currently am.
That’s one very tall order. And out of all those goals, I think this one is the hardest and the most important: I want to like myself. Unconditionally. Just as I am.That I will be an anti-social penguin when the mood strikes.
And when I do feel ready to emerge from my self-imposed isolation, it might look something like this...