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(Hello there! Welcome to my blog – I hope you’ll stick around for the journey!)

I Am What Dreams Are Made Of

If I have learned anything this week, it is that there will not always be conveniently placed times to do what you want most in the world.

I am a girl who used to go through somewhat fitful states of unhappiness in my life. I should perhaps emphasise the ‘used to’ in that sentence.

There was a time in January when I realised that my highest purpose in life was not to worry compulsively over the reference style on my culture essay due next week. Nor is it to go through extensive mental anguish over a situation my friend is in. My highest purpose is to be happy.

The bottom line is happiness and anything that does not serve my happiness is not a ‘necessity’ to the experience of my life.

I have walked with this unshakeable knowledge for nearly three months now.

However, I am a university student studying writing. This serves my happiness intensely but sometimes I can become to entrenched in life.

I can simply become too focused on life-ly things. It is with this focus that worries can trickle back into your mind and build momentum. An invaluable piece of advice that is staring us in the face: worry serves no one but itself and the company it gathers, with speed.

Recently I found my mind flitting from thoughts on paying my rent to finishing the second draft of my novel. Just like that the wand of anxiety was waved and the infallible understanding of the power my mind slipped a wrung on the ladder I had climbed so diligently. The worse thing about this is that I was entirely unaware of this happening as the fall is a subtle slap whereas the climb to greatness immense. For greatness we must me solidify the airy thoughts of ‘possibly’ harnessing our mental power to an ice so frozen no thaw can melt what we know to be true.

I caught myself slipping when I was sitting in a class on the publishing world. Everything from agents to publishing houses was discussed with unabridged detail. The speakers, two veterans of the system, honestly told us that the success rate for authors in our fields was approximately twelve out of every hundred authors – and out of that twelve,  only four were likely to ‘really’ make it.

Instantly I was struck with fear. That was my first sign that something was wrong. Where was the hope? And with that I knew things had to change.

I mean this with all truthfulness – all you need is the realisation of happiness and then the world is simple. So no, I did not have to work to overhaul my mind towards positivity. Instead I made the choice to rid myself of negativity. (And that is more than a enough – just as you are in your life.)

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As the speakers were talking with a somewhat grey tone of honesty to the impossibility of every making a living by writing, I stopped writing this down and making notes of their every word. I literally dropped my pen onto my lap and let white noise fill my ears.

Hear me when I say this:

Self-belief is not delusional. You are not a fool for persisting through a crowd of discouraged others. No, you are not the only person in your field, no more than I am. But be the first to be relentless with your self-belief. 

Kill the naysayers with your
tireless ability do what you do perfectly. Drown them out with the sound of your success. By the choice to do that alone you are golden.

And so, the white noise in my ears disappeared and I picked back up my pen. I turned over a new page and filled every line with the same sentence written over and over again for the remaining hour until the truth of it was burned onto my brain:

“I am what dreams are made of.”

And by the choice, I cannot fail and neither can you.

Write soon,

Jennifer x

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