I’ve had this weird shift recently that has required an adjustment of attitude. I’m used to thinking of myself as being at the bottom of the hierarchy, as someone who doesn’t give instruction, but receives instruction.
I’ve talked before about how trying to be the best version of myself was burning me out, and this is still accurate. Having an overwhelming list of things to do everyday to be the “best” is a great way to become disenchanted with self improvement. But birthdays can be a great way to start anew.
Why am I doing what I’m doing? Why is anyone doing what they are doing? Before we tumble down the rabbit hole of existential crisis (which I fall down frequently, but that’s not the point), I want to talk about defining why I do what I do.
Do you have a story inside you that is dying to escape, but you just don’t have the time, or energy, or you get discouraged? Maya Angelou once said “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” When you are holding on to that story, waiting for the right moment, then you are wasting time because you are carrying the burden of your untold story.
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a story teller. I’d weave extra tales from story prompts at school and treasured school journal time. I wanted to write, but I wasn’t very good at it. I entered competitions in play writing and got the equivalent of a “C”. I hated myself over it. At 16, my family went to a get together. First to arrive, a family friend asked me what I wanted to be when I got older, and what I wanted to do in college.