Today was a long day. So long that by the end of it, I was so tired that I couldn't muster enough strength to flex the muscles of my own willpower.
I've been meaning to keep my MFA plans a secret, but ended up confessing to a coworker after we had left the office. I'm still not sure whether I subconsciously really wanted to, or if it was just a dumb moment of emotional weakness and mental exhaustion that caused me to spill the beans.
Of all people, this particular coworker is probably the least dangerous one to tell. Quite well read and very creative in her own right, she seemed to appreciate my goal, and encouraged me to go for it. All the while I was flapping my mouth, however, I knew I should stop.
It's not that I think she is going to run through the rows of cubicles shouting the news anytime soon, but there is still something that I feel I lost in letting my plans leak. They are still in their vulnerable beginning stages and my thoughts are so idealistic that I am not comfortable opening them up to outside criticism yet. I need more time to construct a timeline, to build confidence based on materials, to solidify in my own impressionable mind that this is, in fact, the true path for me to take, before I can face the world with the necessary conviction to say, "I'm doing it."
I don't like to say I have regrets, so I'll call it a disappointment that I failed to keep my secret secret, but I will say that I am grateful for the bit of advice I'm not even sure my coworker knew she was giving me. She said, "I hope you're writing all the time, because man, that takes a lot of discipline... you'd better get to work."
Although I like to think I've already gotten to work, she's right. I need to work harder. Every day, increasingly. I need to find my voice in the stark silence of a blank page and make it do more than just speak; I need to make it sing; sing for the world when I am finally ready to admit "I'm doing it."
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