When You Don’t Live Up to Your Expectations
I already had my future planned.
At 23, I would be (successfully) self-employed. I would have my own studio juggling one project after another – completely lost in this whirlwind of captivating busyness, which brought me instant validation for years. I would have the luxury to write from home or whichever part of the world I would fly off to, on a whim. This online platform would be more blown-up than it is now, reaching multitudes of readers from all continents. More importantly, I would have already made a brand out of myself.
That is not the case. This glorious fantasy is completely foreign and far-fetched…as of the moment.
I have been at the same place for the last two years, a creative slave to my entertainment-savvy Filipino brothers and sisters from all walks of life. I hardly touched my blog on my first year of full-fledged, confusing, and liberating adulthood. I rarely book jobs, and when I do have the chance to work elsewhere, I am oftentimes too tired to even accept.
That is the truth, and I am pretty okay with that.
I write to my readers through the heart-wrenching pain, the undeserved goodness, and the inexorable beauty of life. I read voraciously, traveling to endless, inexhaustible worlds when I have to be still and unmoving. I try to be kind to every single person I encounter, and when I fail because I am finite, I am weary, I apologize. I pray in crowded streets, in almost empty trains, in my isolated cubicle – even when I don’t feel like it. I try to be more intentional with my relationships, I try to be present – I try so very much.
I am conquering my own selfish desires and aspirations allowing every single day to fill me with gratitude and beauty. It may be quiet, it may be unremarkable but it is a life built on purpose. I have learned to embrace delay because it is not denial. It is merely a refocusing on more important things, such as my character and my spirit.
There are days when I will feel insignificant, days when I see everyone doing everything else I am not, and that does not make me any less important.
My path is solely my own. My timeline is no one else’s.
I (must) wait, and in the waiting, may I be moved, may I be transformed.