I often find myself wishing that I was a lot of things. That maybe, in the back of my mind, I can play the selfish individual and hope for a ton of other things that go beyond the different sorts of wonderful that I’m experiencing now. I wish I were a lot better; a lot less self-concerned, a whole lot more responsible, a whole lot more aware, more eloquent, more organized, less awkward…more (or less) insert-adjective-here. Maybe I wish I was capable of filling every unfulfilled expectation.
And then I realize that there’s a whole lot more to it. Honestly speaking, it’s easy to wish you were a lot more of this or a lot less of that, but it’s an entirely different ball game when it comes to actually making it happen. It means doing a lot of things that you don’t want to do, it means doing something you dislike, so much that it hurts–not in the physical sense but in the entire “my mind and body are rebelling against this out of the norm experience”-sense, but you do it anyway because you know you’ll be thanking yourself later.
It’s forcing yourself to get up and get yourself a glass of water when you’d rather lie down. It’s willing yourself to open your notebook and study for that test when you’d rather sleep. It’s hugging a pillow so tight in hopes of turning your thoughts off because you want some peace of mind for a change. But most of all it’s accepting every little thing that you aren’t and not falling into a sense of complacency that you already are—at this very moment—something, because you and I both know that you’re eons better than that.
If it weren’t for this belief, I think I’d already be burned out. It’s refreshing to be able to thank myself for the words that keep me going. While it’s often convenient to express your emotions through the words of others, it’s a challenge to be able to go back and thank yourself for your own motivation.