I’m going to be honest, folks. I have literally no idea what I’m doing with my life. Currently, I’m sitting on my huge, comfy couch, watching episode after episode of The Vampire Diaries, because I have to find out what happens next. My attention span is so short that I’m basically just listening to it while Tumblring and blogging. I don’t do much else when I’m not working. When I am working, I’m always coming up with creative ideas for blogging, photography, sewing, painting, and yet, I sit and watch Netflix in all my free time. 

I think what’s stopping me from being creative is the fear that nothing will come of it. What if I try to sew something and it turns out terrible? What if I start making a YouTube channel about “this is why we’re married” moments with Kurt and I lose interest and it just becomes another failure? What if I apply to every single writing or editing job in the Pacific Northwest and I still don’t get anything because I don’t have the experience required, there are way more people with more experience and more skills applying for the same positions, and I refuse to leave the Seattle area? What if? What if?

What if?

The other day, someone (probably Kurt) suggested looking into a management position at Fred Meyer, since I am pretty good at my job now and it would pay more and give me more hours. The thought terrified me. Not because I don’t think I’d be a good manager. I’m sure I’d be awesome. What terrifies me is working in retail for longer than a total of two years in my life when I have a college degree. Because what if I never leave? What if two years becomes five, and five becomes 10? What will be the point of going $20,000 into debt? I have firmly decided that I should have majored in something else. I am trying to make the best of my stupid decision to obtain the easiest skate-by of all college degrees. I should have gone into forensic anthropology. Honestly, I chose English Writing because it was easy. I could have worked so much harder in the degree I did earn. I could have learned something. I believe that all the skills I have now, I had before I even set foot on Central’s campus. I BS’ed my entire way through that school. I never cheated, but I did the bare minimum of work and barely thought about what I was doing until I had graduated and I didn’t feel like I had gained anything besides a piece of paper and a mountain of student loans. I could have tried harder to come up with better theses for research papers. I could have read more. I could have started on the school newspaper earlier so I would have three years of experience there and not six months. I could have done the same with being a writing tutor. Why did I wait? 

I wish I could go back and do it again. But I can’t, and I’m stuck picking up piles of clothes from off the floor because someone couldn’t be bothered to put it back on the hanger, and listening to mean ladies gripe about how loud the music is (first complaint I’ve ever heard, and the store director actually laughed when I told him). It’s killing me. I have so much potential but I’m throwing it away because I’m lazy. I don’t even try to find a better job, one that uses my skill set and passions, because I don’t even see the point. And yet, I can’t be happy where I am. I want to leave, but I can’t because I can’t bring myself to job-hunt without feeling the crushing weight of “You’re not good enough” over and over. I can’t. 

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