Baby Steps

I have a few days before I have to make a very, very large decision.

It's one of those things that I know I NEED to say "YES!" to, that if I say "no," well...Sigh.

But it's hard. I sit here and doubt myself. If I can't motivate myself to jog while the sun is out and it's my day off, how am I going to navigate, let alone survive, a whole different world?

How does one learn self-motivation?

Once, a counselor told me to trick myself into doing something. "Baby steps," she said, "tell yourself, 'I'm just going to get out of bed, I'm just going to put on my running gear, I'm just going to step out the door." I guess I need to try this again, because at one time it did work.

I'm scared, really, scared of failing--that I'll go to NYC and not do well, that I won't improve, that I won't be able to afford it, that I'll have to come down back to live with my parents.

Baby steps, baby steps.

Trees with lights

My neighbors have six trees by our shared fence, all of them wrapped with lights. I have yet to figure out all the times they turn them on but tonight they shine brightly and some of them twinkle (a thing I've never noticed).

If I look closely at the picture above, which I took through my window, I can see my vanity (covered with mail and notes-to-self and books) and I can see myself. Vaguely.

There's something odd about living in my childhood room. I feel vague, translucent, ghostly. Like an eraser has gone over me and yet the traces remain, or a like a piece of tracing paper lies over me.

I'm not supposed to be here. Not permanently, anyway. And although I know this and know that I'm not staying here forever, I have a plan, I'm moving out, I'm moving on, but somehow I haven't allowed myself to BE here at all. If I woke up somewhere else, I'd swear that the past seven months were a dream, not question it at all. But I am awake and not being where I am feels wasteful.