For years, I felt I had plenty of time. I enjoyed my twenties in a leisurely fashion. I felt that it was unreasonable to think that anyone would take me seriously until I was over 30 anyway, so a lot of things I didn't even try very hard for. I remember talking to one of my therapists about how when you realize you're buried in elephant shit, at least you know where you are. It's a place to start.
Thanks to G and his mighty shovel, to so speak, I'm no longer where I was, and I've been trying for the last few years to figure out where I actually am, and where I'd like to be. It's just been so nice not being where I was, that I haven't wanted to leave that place of relaxed relief. So I've been letting things happen to me. Letting things blow in and out of my life. See what the Universe does if I just sort of lie here and submit. In a certain sense, I haven't aggressively pursued or chased after anything, and I haven't pressured myself to do so.
And yet... these last few years have felt like some of the most productive years of my life.
Hm... I didn't TRY to make things happen... they just sort of seemed to. Or maybe, the things that I did do just didn't SEEM like a lot of work, because I enjoyed them so much?
No... This is not quite right.