I’ve been writing a lot of letters to Future Me lately. They are very hopeful, sometimes sassy and always, well, me. I have a lot of dreams for the future. I’ve spent the last few weeks doing research on homesteading and chickens and ducks. I’ve decided that I want to have a little farm and maybe a mini dairy cow.
I keep thinking about how someday this whole college experience is going to end, and for me that day is coming up really fast. I’m in my fourth year, I may or may not be coming back to finish out my degree, and everyone has a lot to say about that.
I’m excited and nervous about the prospect of leaving school, maybe not forever, but for a while at least and joining the world at large. I want to get a job that I don’t hate, and I want to write my books. These last few years of school, my higher education, has prevented me from really, truly putting forward the amount of effort that I want to give towards my writing. I’ve seen my writing skills suffer, and I’ve also watched them get better. Depends on what you’re looking at.
I can write an essay in thirty minutes. I can plan a 10 page analysis in 10. But when I try to think of bright new creative ideas that could develop into novel-length books, I’m completely stymied.
Now, I think I’d like to have some acreage and a little hobby farm. A sunny kitchen where I write my books during the day after collecting eggs from my chickens and harvesting my fresh vegetables and fruit. I want fruit trees and green land and probably a pond or a creek, but that’s a lot to ask a college grad.
For right now, I am satisfied with dreaming about what my life will be like, but I don’t know for how long that will last. I put a lot of dreams on hold to come to college and I’m getting antsy to start moving forward again. My limbo zone is almost done.