Not All Who Wander Are Lost

I've been called naive before, and I always thought they were right in saying so. I know there's something... off about me, and hearing the word "naive" gave me something to pin that feeling to. But, I've been realizing lately that it wasn't naivety that I was experiencing at all... it was... hope. Or some convoluted form of the thought. I was hopeful that, if I believed, someday I would stumble into a wardrobe or find a secret cave or fall onto the right knot on a tree and I would be whisked away from this world forever. I know that sounds so silly... but I believed it so much that I let it rule a large part of my life.

I know I don't belong here, but I'm not sure how far that concept goes. Do I not belong in this world, or simply this reality? Do I not belong behind a desk or in a house with a mortgage and neighbors I never really care for, or is it that I don't belong in a place where those things even exist? I'm not sure what I'm trying to get at here, exactly... my point is that, until recently, I've had no idea what I was going to do with myself when the day came that I realized I was never going to stumble into that wardrobe, or enter that cave, or fall onto the right not on a tree. I don't know if that day came and went a long time ago, and I've just been lying to myself... or if, perhaps, it hasn't come at all, and never will. But I've reached a moment where I now understand that I have to do something to make life here-- however indefinite it may be -- bearable. I don't want to constantly wish I were somewhere else... but, even I do wish that forever, I have to find some common ground where I can live comfortably. That's where writing comes into play.

If you haven't guessed, I have a huge imagination. And, to be honest, I never stopped harnessing it the way a child does. I still imagine that things are there when they aren't. I still create conversations with creatures I've never actually met, but have known a lifetime. I still feel that grace and poise that I swear I once had when I thought I was a princess in a far away land. I still constantly try to use magic that I know is resting somewhere, dormant, within my veins. And writing has been this unfathomably helpful way to harness this incessant belief that I've always had. I have so many stories and adventures in my mind that never really happened... writing gives me a chance to make them real, in their own way; if only for a moment.

I'm only bringing this up because I was told today that I should try to right straight fiction... not fantasy/fiction. It was by someone who I love and trust, and who I know would only tell me what they truly thought. And they said that I should try my hand at writing stories about people here, in the "real" world. Of course, I always incorporate the "real" world into my fantasy pieces, and I HAVE written straight fiction pieces before; but, the idea of JUST writing about human interaction for a period of time really threw me. And, it's not that humans aren't interesting, because they certainly are... but it's because I realized that I really have decided to become a WRITER, not just an imaginative creator of the fantastic. It really hit me that I'm going to face a weird battle in the coming years; a battle between my heart, my imagination, and the world. It just scares me a little, because I love writing so incredibly much. And I don't just love it for my imagination's sake, I really LOVE it; I love everything about it. But. I don't want people to always mistake this fierce belief within me for naivety, like my friends do. I want to be taken seriously, but I want to tell the truth... and fantasy is my truth, as weird as that sounds. It just scares me, that I'm trying to make it in such a harsh and pessimistic world. People believe in computers and wires now, not in swords and centaurs.

I know I'm stressing about all of this prematurely... I just wonder what you do when you try to set up a life for yourself in a world that doesn't agree with you. AND I'm still wishing I were somewhere else, and I have to deal with that pain. I'm not naive, though. I know the difference between fantasy and reality, but I see it differently than most people do. Perhaps it's due to a life of reading and day dreaming, or perhaps it's because it really is there-- an ancient remnant of magic and love dancing in my blood--, but I see beautiful things in both fantasy and reality. My goal is to unite them... to create a gray area on the page that shows people that there might be more magic in our everyday lives than we really think is there. But... sometimes I wish I had something more than this belief to guide me. I just wish the signs were larger. They're there, for sure. I see them often, but... I just don't understand them enough to lay back and let them take a hold of me. I don't know. I just know there's something else out there.