#Growing Up

That might sound silly, but I’m in my early thirties and feel like I’m only growing up now. I thought I knew what adulthood was like once I turned seventeen, heck…I knew nothing. I don’t know much more now, but at least I can say I know enough to tell you I’m very far from being perfect, and when it comes to being real, I’m harsh and blunt.

But that’s okay. Life without honesty wouldn’t mean anything to me. I have my moments where I just want to throw everything away, give up and move on. Still, a little bird pushes me to keep trying, because challenges are supposed to be hard, otherwise they wouldn’t be called that way.

So I push. And it’s tough. And I want to quit. Then I continue my struggle, use every possible strategy to get out of an entanglement at work or with my writing, and sometimes, these strategies work, sometimes they fail. Being an adult means dealing with these failures, and not remaining defeated and bitter forever. I learn and learn, mostly, I peel the layers of my own self like an onion, and what I find is sticky, icky, sometimes stinky, and other times, it’s smooth and sweet, and wonderful just like a fairy tale. I’m made of darkness and light, all I need to do is find the balance between the two without fighting too hard.

I could stomp my feet on the ground and decide I will have everything my way. Being an adult means I have to compromise and learn patience. Ha, patience sounds like an evil word to me! Yet, when I look at my life today and the way it was a few years ago, the difference is amazing, and extremely gratifying.

My writing took a toll lately because of work obligations. I complain a lot I don’t have enough time to write, then when I actually have the time, I find an excuse not to write! I’m too tired, too lazy, I can’t find inspiration, my story sucks, I hate my main character, yadi yada…the story goes on and on and on.

Writing a book is supposed to be hard. I’m almost there with 32 Seconds. Three chapters left and I’m ready to edit and send to my editor. Now the kid in me would want to speed up the process, and write those three chapters in one day so I could be done with it. The adult in me tells me I need to experience a bit more of life before putting my final words on paper. I would never have agreed to this compromise years ago, had I known it would take me several years to finish an acceptable fifteenth draft. But all things considered, I do a lot in a twenty-four hour day, and this book will be finished very soon.

Patience is key. A good meal can’t be cooked in two minutes. I always say that good things come in small doses. And they do. The trick is to learn to catch these happy moments and cherish them while they last. And yes, I’m probably repeating myself like a broken record. Yet, I need to say these things over and over for them to really sink in.

So my growth expands and blossoms just like a flower. Rainy days bring their share of turmoil, sunny days bring their share of peace. If I acted like a child, I’d only catch the sunny days. As an adult, I must catch the rainy days too. My mood fluctuates like the weather, therefore I still see the rainy days even when it’s a sunny day. It’s my job to acknowledge not everything is bad and ugly. No one will do that for me. If I was a kid, I’d think I’m the center of the universe. As an adult, I must learn to share space and time with others.

My tribulations as a writer encompass so much more than just rainy and sunny days, but overall, they mostly deal with rainy days at the office. And I can’t really part ways with the job that gives me livelihood. I gotta learn to be grateful, especially when I don’t want to be.

I’m a grown up. I can’t deny that. Today I really feel like my childish days are over. I look at life and find myself smiling because deep down I know I’m on the right track…and that’s all that really matters.

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