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As I sit in this chair I can’t help but think about how far I’ve come. I’m about to turn 21, officially in less than thirty minutes, and I’m already almost in tears. A friend just brought me a gift, a beautifully decorated container (pictured above…it has an owl!!!) and a card. In the card, along with her well wishes for my birthday was this sentence:

I know it seems like an empty little box, but believing in the obscure and unseen is what faith is all about.

My childhood was filled with adventure, hope, and endless possibilities…it wasn’t perfect, yet I had full faith I could achieve anything. My teens were filled with a lack of faith in myself, others, constant anxiety, and fear that I wouldn’t be prepared or good enough. My 20s, thus far, have also been filled with anxiety but of a different kind. The anxiety that comes with “stepping out on a limb” and creating a life for myself, one that does/will bring me joy and one I’ve been striving for regardless of how afraid of failure I am. In fact, I might argue that it’s my fears that have pushed me to once again have faith in myself.

I’m proud of myself, yet even more importantly I know my younger self, the girl who believed she could be anything she wanted if she worked hard at it, would be proud of me, too. That is something I don’t know I could’ve said and believed a few years ago.

Life is like writing a book. You should choose the life you want/have always wanted to live just like you should write the book you want/have always wanted to read. As I’ve come to realize, the beginning will always seem brighter and happier and easier while the middle is a murky swamp. However, in the end, it’ll be worth it. I have faith in that and in myself just as I have faith that my characters will iron out their problems and “get their shit together.” Maybe not the first time around and maybe not the fifth, as I’m also learning, but eventually I’ll get there and will forget about that murky swam. At that point, I’ll probably want to start all over so for now, I’ll just keep smelling the nonexistent roses.

Whimsically Yours,

PnC

P.S. Now it’s three minutes past my “official” time of birth so the title is no longer relevant yet I like the sound of it so it shall stay.

-Patrice

Written by Patrice

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