Today, I'm sitting in a Barnes and Noble cafe drinking my 1.74 cent chocolate milk and thinking of ways to better myself while simultaneously allowing my gift to flourish. I've been unemployed for two months and as much as it sucks, I'm happier with no money creating than I was with money selling. Of course, I want a job. But at what expense? The thought of trying to convince people to buy into an idea or a product that I don't necessarily believe in sickens me. The idea of being around people that followed up how are are you with how are your numbers makes me ill. If I can help it I will never have to experience that again.
How great would it be to use my words to express ideas? I'm not naive to the fact that the next job I get may not be as creative as I would like. But, at 41 how sad would it be if I didn't try? I always say that I'm middle aged, and of course people laugh and respond "no you're young". Yeah, by today's standards I'm young but think about it, last year the average life expectancy was 81 for a female. 81!!! I'm at the peak of my life and I am going to try my best to do the things I want to do as opposed to what I need to do. I'm not rich and by US standards I'm pretty much poor. But lack of money will not block my creative juices.
Today, as I sit here typing and thinking of a master plan I'm more determined than I ever have been. There are no promises in life and I can't predict what the future will hold. Will I go back to dental sales? I hope not, but who knows. One thing I know for sure is that writing is like a blood vessel pumping words to my brain and I need it to live. I pray that someone out there recognizes that and says we need you Tamieka.