This is a direct entry from one my late night journaling sessions. 10.13.2020 – 10:56pm

R. was talking to me about a book she is reading for her college literature class and the author happens to be a [REDACTED] native. While I was pouring water for myself in the kitchen, I felt a twinge of jealousy for that woman just for a brief moment. The feeling faded as quickly as it had come, but I am glad it appeared.

I want my Endeavor to be successful and like everyone else who is trying make their dreams come true, I have worked hard, fought for my dreams and sacrificed so much. And I am getting anxious. I am beginning to feel restless, impatient and annoyed; both with myself and with the universe. I want to finish NOW. Not today. Not tomorrow. NOW, this instant! I want people to read the Endeavor, to love it and to critique it too. I want my idea, my hard work, to finally manifest in physical form—in the form of a book. But (for now) I must be patient. I must work hard. I must be consistent. I must always believe in myself and my abilities; and I must continue writing every. single. day. Writing is the only thing that gives me peace and I cannot take that away from myself.

So back to that feeling of jealousy. I will never be jealous of anyone else ever again. I cannot and will never again compare myself to anyone else. Well, actually I will. I will only be jealous of, and compare myself, to future me. Why? Because future me is smarter, cleverer, stronger, more resilient, more focused, wiser and more knowledgeable than present me. Future me is more courageous and witty and kinder and funnier and more thoughtful than I (currently) am. She is someone I look forward to impressing. She is someone I look forward to becoming. Future me is the product of present me's hard work, patience, and perseverance. Future me is everything I've ever wanted to be and more. Future me is the brightest and most magnificent star in my—in our—universe; and I know this because present me was once future me; and if I managed to come out of my darkest and worst days with mere bumps and bruises, imagine what future me will [REDACTED]?

Much love to you.


C. W.