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Volume 14: A New Year

Well,

I find it's always helpful to get the mundane writing out of the way first-- burn off the excess, if you will. I don't think that I've posted much at all in the past few years. In fact, I know that I haven't posted much in the past few years. That is the subject of the day, though in a more round-a-bout way than I had planned. Is the lack of writing a symptom of something larger? I think that at the very least it suggests a lack of motivation. But why?

I do not have an aversion to work, only to the meaning behind it. I think some others could at least agree that without a passion for your work, it is hard to achieve its goals. That much is obvious. My resolution last year was not to have fear. Vague, and quite impossible, but the resolution then was not to be controlled by fear. Largely, I think I achieved that goal. This year, my resolution is not to make excuses. Again, it is vague.

There shouldn't be a cause for lacking motivation or working at a job you hate. I could point out that the job market is still pretty bad, but that only makes another excuse. How does writing have anything to do with whether or not I have a job that I like? I suppose (and this is a proper example) that not having a wonderful job would give you more time to write. I am stifling the urge to erase all of thise text. It's borderline "emo" and it makes me upset to be its creator.

I find a lot of negativity creeping into my actions and thoughts lately. My mind is breathing in a sauna. I keep asking myself what it is that I need to feel happier. The short answer to that is that I feel frustrated. On the surface, things seem like they should be fine. I've got a job, a fiance, a place to live, a car, and free time. But I am not happy with myself, and no amount of things can fill that void. It's something I've told Laurel about herself, rather callously I might add.

I shouldn't expect any of this writing to be good. I haven't practiced. It has become rusty.

I've got to to better at finding a teaching job...career. It doesn't make sense to give up now. I know that my time here at ITT is only transitory. I'm not meant to sell things. I enjoy teaching and I'm good at it. I would be a benefit to any school and to its students. Do I have to accept that I'll never make $100K a year? Not necessarily, but the reality is that I can do something that I love, something that keeps me learning, and helps me pass on knowleadge to future generations. It is something that inspires me and that will keep me writing. I cannot do a job for which I have no passion. I am emotional because I am passionate. If I cannot feed passion, then I cannot feed my joy for life. I am at my best when I am confident and in love with the world. Laurel has only seen glimpses of it. She loves me and she is marrying me and she has only seen a glimmer of the person I know I can be, but I must stoke that fire. I cannot keep imagining some future in which I am doing the things that I profess to love. I must do something about it. Whether it seems hard, or futile, or pedantic, I must accomplish the steps necessary to become a teacher. I have to network. I have to find people that will vouch for me and consider me for recommendation. Otherwise, I will continue in this stagflating cycle. Weeks will come and go, as will jobs, and opportunities. I will watch them rise and fall away, and slowly I will get up each morning and my hair will grey more. I will fluctuate as each happy moment is tainted by lingering doubts and I can only half-participate in joy because my mind wanders into fear. I cannot look past the love that stands in front of me any longer. If ever I loved Laurel, loved myself, then I must not stare past the bright future that I can still attain. I love to quote Tennyson, but it serves no purpose of inspiration if all I do is speak empty-pretty words. I impress others with the things I learned, the effort I only slightly gave in the past, and the simple query on Google. It is an embarrassing fix. It is a parlor trick. I work slight-of-hand and proclaim is as magic.

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