Haunted by American dreams

I've been beating myself up for the past seven months over this obsession I have of always having to know where I'm going, what I'm doing, and when am I going to do it. Which worked just fine while I was in school and would probably still work just fine if I had chosen a more traditional career path. But I haven't, and that's ok because writing makes me truly happy. Maybe I don't have a fancy office or a cute apartment in a bustling city or a 401k, but I still consider myself successful, even if I've had a slower start.

The fact that I've had three articles published over the past seven months is absolutely thrilling to me, yet I've downplayed it so much because other areas of my life haven't worked out. Yeah, I might be waiting tables and living at home (for now) but that gives me the freedom to pursue a variety of interests. And, I'm starting to truly embrace the unpredictability of my life. I love that I get to write about plants and bridges and student debt. I love that I've had the opportunity to live in a foreign country and that I'll be traveling again soon. I love that I don't have a morgage or a husband or children to worry about yet, because this time is for me. I get to work on myself and grow as a person and slowly pull together a lasting career.

I have to say all this because I've really gone through alot of self-doubt lately and I've finally realized it's all for naught. I spent so much time worrying that I wouldn't accomplish all my goals that I swept aside all the ones I did. I'm 22 years old and I've graduated college, I've lived in London, I've worked at a magazine and I'm a published writer.

There's still lots more I want to do, but now I truly believe I can make anything happen.

And that is a wonderful feeling.