Writing has always been what I wanted to do. It gives me the chance to be creative in a multitude of ways and let’s me feel smarter than I probably am while doing it, That is not a feeling that can be replicated by anything I have experienced, and as such I’ve always found that it is my hole to retreat to. I figure that using my own personal means of escape may not make the best choice of career path, but I think it is worth noting that I do not experience any euphoria from writing; no rush or thrill for me in the act. It is simply something that makes sense to me and in that I find a kinship.
If there is one other thing to be said about writing and myself it is that I have always been afraid to pursue it on the chance that it reveals itself to be a dead-end. Imagine, if you will, that you prayed every night in faith that someone is listening. Would you ever like to truly know whether there is a god or not? Is it worth potentially losing the peace of mind and identity that your faith grants you? In this case I think I need to know. I need to know if this is anything more that a brief reprieve from the rest of the world. If it is nothing more than a placeholder for the “thing” I want to do with my life I’d rather confront that now rather than miss out on something real.