There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one. Kazuo Ishiguro.
(because here is the truth of the matter, for better or for worse:)
I am probably not going to be accepted into an MFA program this year. It is already March and I have no news and I just don’t think it is going to happen. I am not going to move to another city this year and immerse myself in learning more about playwriting.
(this is most likely the truth and it hurts like a stone in my stomach, but it is okay. i will be okay.)
So. What is not the absence of this fantasy future but the reality of my present?
My family (mostly) is here, my friends (mostly) are here.
I have jobs. Good jobs that I do not always understand or feel that I am doing well, but jobs that I am learning. Jobs that enable me to order the odd iced coffee for delivery because sometimes it’s too hard to go get it by myself. There is a cat at one of my jobs, so that’s pretty cool, right?
And I have the ability to create. Not getting into an MFA program does not mean I am not free to write whatever the fuck I want. When I get the news, I am going to be super fucking sad, I know that. I’m probably going to order the odd iced coffee for delivery and cry into my pillows.
(i am steeling myself for the news. i am trying to prepare for the worst. trying not to let it be the worst, you know?)
Because this is okay. This life I have. With friends and iced coffee and cats at the office. This could be enough if I decided that I could be enough.
I think that’s how it works.
(i am often wrong.)
The world I occupy is one of iced coffee and cats and love for Captain America and jamming to AC/DC on the radio while I drive home from work and having doughnuts at the kitchen table with my friends while we talk about Disney World and our feelings.
My world is a good one.
There are other worlds I could have lived in, but I am living in this one.
And it is good. It is enough.
I am good. I am enough.