Recently, The Plan was derailed. It was all set in motion, everything was running smoothly. And then it wasn't, and that affected me a little more then I'd care to admit.
     For context, The Plan was simple.
     -Graduate.
     -Have a full time job waiting after graduation.
     -Send out The Novel.
     -Have a deal by the end of 2018.
     -Vlog twice a month.
     -Blog twice a month.
     -Be better at social media.
     On paper, seems easy enough. In practice, harder. Much harder. Yet, somehow, I managed. At first. I got a job as a survey caller that paid pretty nice. Enough to make a living. And, the whole “being a writer” thing was working out, too. I still have a back log of scripts ready for filming and posting, plus half a dozen concepts waiting on my hard drive. For about two weeks, things were looking A-O-K.
     But, this wouldn’t be a good story unless things went wrong. So, don’t worry, your friendly neighborhood unsuspecting protagonist is about to have a Bad Time.
     Two days after my last class I got rear ended on a highway and ended up with a concussion to show for it. Getting a concussion, as it turns out, is like being forced to take a vacation that you're not allowed to have fun at. That story again, it's like taking a vacation with your family. A week later I was working two jobs, ending one while starting the other at the same time. Leaving the old one broke my heart to bits and the new one did not turn out great. The experience is something is not something I'd like to rehash, so suffice to say it was the worst. After three weeks I had a mental breakdown in the middle of my shift. I left soon after.
     The month I spent after that without a job was rough. Life had stopped for me. I went from nine hour work days to having nothing to do. Looking at things practically, this was a great opportunity to focus on what I wanted too. I had all the time in the world to work on my career.
     But I couldn’t.
     The Plan not working out was a failure. It completely stopped my momentum. It paralyzed me. Staring at a blank page had never been so painful. The Goal, writing for a living, seemed farther than ever.
     Eventually I had to force myself to write anything, even if I knew it was bad. And now it’s come to this. Personal narrative. My least favorite genre to write.
     Here’s what I’m trying to say. I haven’t been able to sit down and have a properly productive day since I quit my job. I’ve barely finished writing a first draft of a short story, sent out a pitiful amount of queries, haven’t filmed a g*sh d*ng thing. Right now my self confidence is nonexistent and thinking about the future terrifies me. I. Am. Lost.
     The easiest thing to do would be to hate my life right now. But if I can’t be satisfied even when things don’t go my way, life will torture me.
     What God is teaching me right now (probably not for the first time, if I’m being honest) is to be content. And, if I’m getting this right, being content is all about being satisfied with where I am. Not by what I’ve already done, not by what the future might hold. But right now, sitting cross legged on my couch, trying to convince myself I can finish reading an 800 page novel and watch a 37 part lets-play at the same time. I don’t need to be happy or sad about it. I just need to accept that this is where I am.
     So, The Plan was derailed. I’ll live.