I’m not sure what the purpose of this exercise is. I’ve never done it before, and nobody suggested it to me. But for some reason I feel like this is exactly what I need. This is my stream of consciousness. This is everything I want in this moment.
I want this pulled-pork sandwich that I bought an hour ago but can’t eat right now because I’m in yet another meeting.
I want another latte, because I’ve got another headache, and as much as I slept last night, I haven’t been able to completely wake up today.
I want to live a life that means something. Not to somebody, but to everybody. I want my life to make a difference and to be remembered eons after it has ended.
I want to overcome the gripping fear that overtakes me every time I sit down to write and I see that blank page staring at me. I want to take the first and only hard step, remembering that once I start writing, the words will pour from me like my own tears. I want to not be paralyzed by that first step. I want to finish my book and begin living that aforementioned life of meaning.
I want a new job. I want a job that pays the bills without leeching every spare ounce of emotional strength or energy, leaving me too drained to fight that fear of the page. I want a job that challenges me without stifling me, that is demanding without being degrading. I am entitled to nothing more than a satisfying career that tides me over until it is time to fulfill my true purpose.
I want to know myself. I want to discover that beacon of self-love that will chase away the shadows in my soul that keep me from seeing who I am and everything I am capable of. I want to be unafraid of the things about myself that I don’t understand. I want to know, irrevocably and unequivocally, who I am and where I am going.
I want to be loved every bit as much as I love. What I don’t know is whether that means I want to be loved more or if I want to love less. I’m hoping for the latter. The latter is always easier.
I want to cry. As strange as that sounds, crying is cleansing, and I want to be as cleansed as if I had stood naked in a summer storm and let the rain wash away all the dirt and the doubt. I’ve affected a few stray tears here and there–a whimper or two. But I want to cry until my throat is raw–until the pressure of my screams feels like the universe expanding in my skull. I want to cry into exhaustion, and wake up purged of all those things held behind the floodgate.
I want to learn self discipline. I want to exercise less erratically, forget that I have multiple credit cards at my disposal, and cook even when I feel like ordering out. For the first time in my young, irreverent life, I want to not drink as my default method of socialization or relaxation. I want to hold myself to deadlines and to-do lists, and I want to take a proactive approach to those things I take for granted will “work themselves out” in time.
I want to know the future. I want to control my destiny. But what I really want is to not want these things. I want to blissfully surrender my blind self to the whims of the universe, trusting that the universe does not act in whims, but with a definite purpose that will guide me towards all the right decisions and destinations. I want to sit in the backseat and enjoy the ride instead of trying to drive myself.
I want to be strong. I am so much stronger than anyone has ever seen, or that even I know. I have risen above so many challenges already, and I will continue to rise up. But still. I could always be stronger.
I’m not asking for too much, am I?