I have spent the past few weeks slaving over my column. What should I write? What message do I want my readers to receive? How do I want to attempt to perhaps impact their lives?
For the past few weeks I have contemplated endlessly the words to say to start the year right. The best foot to begin the semester. A way to attempt to create a legacy.
The thing about writing, while you might be familiar with the dictionary, it isn’t that easy creating sentences and paragraphs.
Many people have attempted to tell me to just sit down and write. The venture is made. But is it?
I am 22 years old and don’t know what I want out of life. I spent the last semester waltzing through my classes while I watched my peers sweat, struggle and lose sleep.
As editor of a publication, it would be assumed that my life be overwhelmed with endless responsibility and stress. For the exception of a few additional lost nights of sleep, it has felt like any other semester.
I don’t know what I want from life. I don’t know what I am doing in Natchitoches, La., but for some reason I am still here waiting for the answers.
Please allow me to clarify one thought. I don’t sit still for anything. Me waiting is not a simple process, and it often includes a journey of my own.
While waiting to find my place in life, I have successfully thrown myself into everything: the bassoon, the conta, the Potpourri, The Current Sauce, PRAL, Catechism, classes and now a beauty pageant.
I am not a beauty queen. I am the farthest thing from the stereotypical beauty. I don’t wear crowns or practice poise. I don’t spend hours in front of a mirror in attempts to look just perfect for my 8 a.m. class. I don’t say the right things or even try half the time.
I am who I am.
That’s not a lady, or someone deserving of a crown or bracelet.
But here I am. Waiting.
Waiting to find my place in the world and testing every avenue in which to discover it.
The ball dropped in New York, and millions of people slaved in deciding what resolution they needed to make to perfect themselves and their lives.
Fire works shot off and the eyes of children lit up at the glory and the excitement of surpassing their bedtimes and welcoming the new year.
Loved ones kissed. Friends clanged their glasses together as they indulged in a New Year’s shot.
The world celebrated another new year. Thanked whomever that they survived the old. And crossed their toes that they could surpass the new.
All around people know what they want. All around people are thankful for the blessings that have come their way.
All around me, people know their place in the world.
While I wish I could say it was comforting or encouraging, it isn’t. In actuality, it is the contrary. It is discouraging.
This new year I have no resolutions. I still have no clue about the message my column should send, and I am in the same place I was last year. Waiting.