How to Find Love - Chapter 7 - Directionless
Directionless, the name of the chapter, how I felt when I was 12 and conveniently how I feel today. It’s a strange feeling for someone like me, perhaps also for someone like you. I tend to like to know where I am going, or if not for the specific location, what I am going after or why am I going after it. But right now I don’t have any of that - I am on my own in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between some currently failed dreams and the taste of mocha frappe.
I know this blog started as a collection of chapters meant to accompany me on my journey of finding love, like my very own love train and you my readers the passengers also enjoy the view. (- I’m going to ditch the train metaphor before it gets really weird.) My point is that I feel this space morphing into more than just a collection of very funny boarding pathetic stories of loving boys that thought I was crazy. The story of my love contains much more than failed flirting attempts, it also involves me coming to a place of genuinely believing in a love that doesn’t need to rescue me or complete me. A love that I won’t be constantly trying to prove my worthiness too. This blog, this space is becoming more me.
I remember in the same year that I was literally and figuratively running after Maillove101 I was also figuring out a lot about myself. It was the year I got my first period, it was a Sunday morning and my mum wanted to ring my dad which I thought was super weird. I packed 12 pads into a circular black bag for ‘just incase’ and headed to church. It was there in that first row that I nervously showed my collection of items to my bestie, Ella who at the time was 10. With her eyes widening, and a state of shock now portrayed on her face she said “woah, are those what I think they are” I think i’ve been shocking her with confessions ever since. I remember feeling proud that I had entered this state of womanhood, I even remember telling all the girls in the blue syndicate bathroom. “I am a woman now” which led to a series of laughs, and then consequently a bully running out and telling most of the class. Maillove101 had already found out that morning on our run so I didn’t care so much.
Today, I feel like I am floating. With a to do list that stretches all the way back to when I was 12. I was 12 when I had decided I would be an author. The fact is that I already was, I had written my first book when I was somewhere around 8 years old. It is called ‘Laura and the Magic Camel’ and the whole point of the story was really to write my older brother out of the family as I replaced him with another sister Louise. If I was rewriting it now, I would definitely not make the same creative decision but younger Emma needed a safe space. Camel book aside I was determined that I would write my first real novel before I finished high school. I was just going to be an author, I was going to be the youngest, best, most creative, also actress author you’ve ever known. It's now 2021, over 11 years later and I will be honest I have about three and half chapters completed. 11 years of excuses, 11 years of playing sims and making them famous authors, 11 years of wondering if I can actually write, 11 years of choosing other things. 11 years of feeling like I have failed every single day. 11 years of knowing what would be good for me, but yet failing to do it.
Sound depressing? Well it is. It’s not like I’ve been too busy to do it or on the other hand that I haven’t achieved anything because I have - but averaging 3 words a day isn’t going to get me those dreams I have been wanting for so long. Which leads me to the big question - do I really want that dream. Woah. BUT do I really want to be an author? Do I really want to tell the story I’ve been ‘trying’ to tell for so long? Am I a good storyteller? Do I really want any of this? They’re big questions. That deserves time to be thought through. In a four hour conversation with a dear friend, life guru, dream mentor and subsequently brilliant human I was asked by her “Have you done anything in the last week that has sparked joy for you? Like even rolling down the windows as you drive, anything?” My brain locked up, until I remembered my recent discovery of DDR (Dance Dance Revolution). It wasn’t in the last week but it still counts. I’ve always sucked at dancing, my rhythm is so out of whack sometimes I accidentally find myself in time. But for some reason the night at the arcade that I plucked up the bravery to give that machine a go, like a proper attempt I thrived. For thirty minutes I was imagining myself in The Kissing Booth movie, hitting all the arrows on time, even venturing out and holding the bar that the experts flip over and stuff. I don’t know if it's the fact that the game itself requires you to be slightly out of rhythm to the song, or if I had dance superpowers for that night. But I will report that was one of the most carefree, fulfilling, exciting thirty minutes of my life.
No, I don’t think that means I am supposed to be a dancer, or take my dream energy and spend it on DDR. Although I am itching to go back, I don’t even care what the 12 year old waiting for a turn thinks, I will dance and I will soar. More so than anything it was refreshing to realise I am capable of feeling genuine passion for something. Not just a pressure to achieve, or to fulfill the dreams that my 12 year old self wanted. - I now know that before I can even start to be loved by the man of my dreams, I need to get real about what I am still believing in/for.
So how does one wrap up a discussion about feeling directionless? Genuinely asking because I am unsure. - See you next week whoever you are,
Unapologetically,
Emma
Leave a comment
Please note, comments must be approved before they are published