This is Your Life, Ending One Min-

       There is a first time for everything, isn't there? And for every first time, there are layers upon layers to digest before we feel comfortable with whatever it is we're doing. And even then, sometimes we don't feel comfortable for a really long time, if ever. I've been writing stories since I can remember. Reading, writing, and talking to people: my most favorite things to do. And all of those things have brought me stress multiple times, at any given time. Whether it was in college trying to understand the character of Prince Myshkin in Dostoevsky's 'The Idiot', or writing my own obituary for a class assignment, or talking aloud in a support group, these situations terrified and stressed the hell out of me.
       For instance: starting a blog. Sharing my words with the world seemed fine and dandy, one-on-one, but on the internet? And although my friends, family, professors etc., have always been encouraging, claiming I'm a talented writer with a gift, well......I was always sure everyone was just being nice. You don't bash what someone loves to do even if they're awful, right? But just like the sad contestants on the talent shows, I would hope someone would tell me I sucked before I made a fool out of myself....but that got me thinking....at least those people were WILLING to make a fool of themselves, even if it meant being humiliated.
        I can't fail if I don't try, can I?
        So here we are. I'm finally pulling the trigger and sharing my words with the world. And if it sucks, so be it. I've spent enough time in my head dreaming, nightmaring (yes, I make up words), and tormenting myself that I've somehow already failed before I even try (which ends up in rambling sentences, I'll work on that, I promise ). But just like I was taught: you can't complain about politics if you don't vote; I can't expect to call myself a writer or a fan of literature if I don't write.
        I had to take a plunge. I was tired of just existing. I was sick of the constant ache, tired of the what if's, sick of wondering if there was an actual purpose for going through the hell most of us have endured? So I dipped. I got the f*** out of dodge. And a lot of people who know me were surprised I actually did it, other people were surprised it took me so long. I don't know the exact reasons, but I'm sure there are many and they will resurface at some point (they always do).
        But for now....   
        What better way to do something drastic than to quit my job, junk my broken car, pack some bags and take a leap of faith? So here I am. Living in Chicago, writing more than I ever have in my life, dealing with my stress demons AND truly, truly enjoying my life and this experience. I'm learning (the hard way) to deal with my fits of panic and worry, and living life to the fullest when I can actually get my mind to relax. 
        So here we go.
        Fall out of the plane on this journey with me, won't you?