There are little secrets people hold within themselves that nobody else will know. Dreams of better lives; of exotic vacations; of creative lives unfolded. They hold these secrets within themselves and they last forever, but never reveal themselves because people are scared. To tell these secrets would be to tell what they’re afraid to chase after. To invite the ridicule of what others will rain upon them.
I dreamed of being a writer then; I dream of being a writer now.
I keep on writing even though I rip the pages out and start again. I keep on writing because I know it will fall together eventually.
I write little entries because I get the gratification that other avenues wouldn’t hold in other settings.
I keep on writing because there are people who still hold faith in what I write, even as I struggle against it. I wonder if what I struggle against is only me, or the ideals of what others have against the idea of writing. Maybe not necessarily against the idea of writing, but against the prospect of fulfilling a dream of writing as a career.
I try to break against it every day. Little dreams still continue to grow within me and I continue to pursue it. I read about others; I read other words. I continue on because it won’t quite stop for me.
Does it ever stop for anyone?
Success is how you make of it. Success is never quite defined. And yet are we ever truly satisfied? Are we ever truly home with what lies within us?
What is more? What is less? What is exactly what we need?
Passion fuels us, passion creates our souls. We must protect our souls, but pursue our passion even if the outside world doesn’t agree. Should we contain our little secrets, our little dreams?
It depends, I’m sure. It depends on who we tell. We need the support, we need the nurturing so that when we fall against hard times, we are boosted back up and following it again.