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  • Mood: Tired
  • Watching: Friends
  • Drinking: ice water

You know, no matter how ridiculous it is, I love how one little comment can send you into a flurry of worry for hours on end afterward. Tonight my neighbor came over to say her last goodbye before moving away (which is an entire situation I'm not going to give any explanation about except for that her husband passed away a month or two ago and we were all good friends so she's been having an incredibly difficult time). It was nice seeing her for the first time in quite a while, regardless of her disheleved appearance, and we stood out front conversing for a short time before she said her final goodbyes and headed back down the street. During our conversation, though, somehow the subject of my college popped up. She sees the things my mom always proudly posts about me on facebook so she knows of my heavy-weighted school situation but while in the realm of that topic, she gave me a tidbit of advice to never take a break and keep working hard because her near-30 year old son took a gap year and regretted it because it took him longer to get his degree and he was dragging afterwards and whatnot. If you know me at all, you know that taking a gap year after I graduate is something I feel very strongly about. After all the stresses I've put myself through this past year, I feel like a break is the least I deserve but my neighbor's words tonight started getting me second guessing my decisions. Sure, I was stubborn in my mindset about this now, but what about in the long-run? Am I really making the right decision here?
It's been something that's been bothering me all night now (well, that and my neighbor's emotional turmoil and wavering tears while she was talking with us-- I feel so sorry for her. She seems so fragile and as if she's floundering to stay afloat now). All I can think about, though, is whether this is truly the right decision. I've tried to remind myself that yes, everyone is different and requires different manners of self-care and choices but to be quite honest, it's not helping much. At the base of the situation, it all comes down to the internal battle between myself and society's expectations.
Throughout your entire school career, all everyone ever tells you is that college is so important and that you won't get anywhere in life without a degree. I look at my chosen career path and wonder "Do the same credentials apply here, too?". It's puzzling because frankly, compared to other careers like doctors and accountants, writing is honestly a bit more unorthodox yet somehow I still can't help but feel as if there's a looming presence of hidden requirements in order to actually be a writer. Requirements which have probably been fashioned by mysogynistic dictators who think even the plain creative task of writing should have required credentials.
I know I'm far better off in regards to my level of education than I was a year ago but the same themes in my altered beliefs are still relevant. The only difference between then and now is that today I am older and wiser and have actually experienced college firsthand. Don't get me wrong, I can't begin to say how grateful I am to have had the opportunity to go to college on the school board's dime but the honest truth of the matter is that these classes really don't even mean anything to me. I make sure I excel in my courses to the best of my ability (which is quite frankly dwindling by now) but in the grand scheme of things, I just don't have any passion for these classes. They're nothing but two more bricks to add the load on my back. Earning a college degree doesn't mean anything me. Of course, then again, that doesn't mean having one is moot to other people.
If you apparently won't get anywhere without a college degree, then does that hold strong for writing, as well? Will I be setting myself up for disaster if I choose passion over education? Degrees don't mean anything to me, but if I don't have one, then will I be at risk of higher rejection rates when I do write something and submit it for publishing? I know where my passions lie and I know how to go about pursuing them but the way the world drills the importance of college into everyone's heads, I can't help but feel guilty even considering how little a degree means to me. I feel like I'm rebelling against what society wants from and excepts of me and while I've never been one to do what I'm told, it's the fear of straying from the norm that makes me wary of my decisions.
Your entire life, you're incubated in this barred edifice as strangers drill facts and formulas into your head and for twelve long years, everyone is always telling you exactly what to do. "Take this class!" "Get these grades!" "Sit!" "Stop talking!" "Solve this!" "Write that!" "Do this!" It's dizzying! But you grow accustomed to it. So accustomed, in fact, that when you're finally released into the big, wide world, squinting in the sunlight, you have no idea how to function on your own accord. There's no one to tell you what to do, to predetermine your action queue and guide you through the motions. You're on your own and it's dark and cruel and merciless. You're unarmed and surrounded by dangers that could swoop at you at any moment and swallow you whole. School doesn't prepare you for adulthood. Not in the slightest. Perhaps that's why it's so hard for me to have faith in my own decisions, though. Because I've never really had the chance to take my life into my own hands to such an extent before.
The freedom impending is exhilarating and terrifying all the same. My parents have already promised me my gap year and the sweet freedom is so close I can already taste it but I'm also smart enough to know that all freedom comes with a cost. Whose to say once I reach my gap year, that I won't turn into a deadbeat and decide I may never want to go to back to college? I had to promise I'd go back, yet I'm not even sure if college matters to me. But, then again, like I said before, apparently my views on college are irrelevant. It's all about what matters to society and in society, college is apparently of high importance. I hate that it's so important.
Why has college become such a definitive standard these days, anyways? Why do we have to struggle through four more years of torture just for a slip of paper that apparently denotes some kind of sick superiority? I know in some occupations that yes, having a degree is crucial (like in medicine and law enforcement) but in the scope of a writing career, does it really matter? Endless writers have become impeccably famous without a single degree or even dose of college education. Authors like Ernest Hemingway and Maya Angelou made names for themsleves without a diploma. So it brings to light, then, this question: why have we suddenly placed such restrictions on a career that otherwise should be creatively freeing? Why strap such a wonderful occupation with strict criteria on what it takes to truly be a writer? Am I less qualified to pursue something I'm innately passionate in just because college is meaningless to me?
There are three aspects of my passion I am absolutely sure of and those are that I love creating people, I love creating worlds to put those people in, and I love playing God. Is there a degree for that? In a nutshell, I love studying the monopoly that is life and the only true way I know to pursue that is by going out and living, not sitting in a cold, impersonal classroom with your nose in a textbook. You can't feel the breeze by just watching the wind. I want to learn from experiencing, from stimulating myself visually and tactically, rather than by doing bookwork on facts and stories that'll die in my brain and fade away from boredom.
Piggybacking on that statement about the monopoly of life, though, looking back, part of my life for writing stemmed completely from games. As a kid, I was always playing pretend. I acted out the Wizard of Oz almost every single day, multiple times a day, and even moreso, I'd come up with these storylines for my dolls that I'd beg my mom to play out with me. My imagination was my happy place and the source of all my childhood delight. When I was really young, Barbies were my go-to victim of creativity. I'd create these extensive storylines mainly revolving around the characters themselves-- storylines in a sort of "coming-of-age" fashion. I'd group together Barbies that looked similar and then line them up by age, then take a second character and do the same with her but have her ages correspond with the ages the other one would be at the same plot point. It was a very extensive process but the catch was that all I really had were characters and settings. Any plots came straight out of my head which, at the time, was very juvenile and under-developed in the realm of storytelling, comparatively.
When I discovered the Game of Life, things changed. It quickly became my favorite board game because I just adored the chance factor evident in both the game and real life. It was never just a board game for me, though. The creativity in story developing I had possessed when I was a small child had transferred some of it's energy from Barbies into the board game, and perhaps at one point they even combined. I distinctly remember a time when I was ten years old and my parents and I had gotten evicted from the townhouse we had been renting for the past year. Through a rather unfortunate series of events, at one point we ended up living in what I believe was a Motel 6 for a time. It was summer so it wasn't like I really had any obligations so I played. To pass the time, I had my Game of Life with me. The image is still fresh in my mind: the board all set up on the crunchy hotel carpet, little plastic vans placed on the roads and paper money scattered throughout the room. Like usual, I wasn't just playing recreationally. I was playing for story development. I had these characters fabricated in my mind who I had plastic vans on the board as representation. I'd spin the wheel, move the car, and jot down every single thing it landed on on a piece of notebook paper. For each event, I calculated a different year so as to create a timeline of sorts for this imaginary human. As satisfying and fun as that method was, though, it took up space and paper. That was why when I stumbled across a much neater version, I was ecstatic.
In sixth grade, an old friend of mine introduced me to The Sims games. I had never really played video games before except for my childhood Nintendogs obsession but this was something different and quite frankly, sometihng probably much more dangerous. Beforehand, I had discovered online dressup games which I took great delight in playing in order to create the characters that popped into my head. The disadvantage I had with those games, though, was that much like the Barbies of my childhood, they were simply nothing but characters. I had no plot to work off of with them. I wanted to be able to formulate their lives, bring them and their worlds to life. That's why learning about The Sims was such a turning point in my life. It was the moment when I discoverd I could actually play with life and bring characters to life in worlds I create for them, play God and see what happens. It was everything I was searching for at the time and six years later, I'm still absolutely obsessed.
I can't help but find it so ironic that looking back, the source of all my story inspiration had been games. The situation is honestly especially ironic due to the fact that games are the exact opposite of what is expected of writers as occupational requirement. If the last few paragraphs weren't evidence enough, I have always had such a strong passion for writing, it's all I've ever wanted to do. I'm positive being a writer is my calling but if pursuing this occupation is my fate, then why should I have a degree to be considered qualified? Why should passion have qualifications and criteria? Why should we restrict creativity to tighter standards? And more importantly, why can't I have faith that my curiosities and decisions are the right choices?
I'm writing this half asleep by now. Maybe I'm just babbling exhaustedly and need a good night's sleep. Let the worries marinate through the night and see if the meat tastes any tougher out of the slow-cooker.

  • Mood: Tired
  • Watching: Friends
  • Drinking: ice water

You know, no matter how ridiculous it is, I love how one little comment can send you into a flurry of worry for hours on end afterward. Tonight my neighbor came over to say her last goodbye before moving away (which is an entire situation I'm not going to give any explanation about except for that her husband passed away a month or two ago and we were all good friends so she's been having an incredibly difficult time). It was nice seeing her for the first time in quite a while, regardless of her disheleved appearance, and we stood out front conversing for a short time before she said her final goodbyes and headed back down the street. During our conversation, though, somehow the subject of my college popped up. She sees the things my mom always proudly posts about me on facebook so she knows of my heavy-weighted school situation but while in the realm of that topic, she gave me a tidbit of advice to never take a break and keep working hard because her near-30 year old son took a gap year and regretted it because it took him longer to get his degree and he was dragging afterwards and whatnot. If you know me at all, you know that taking a gap year after I graduate is something I feel very strongly about. After all the stresses I've put myself through this past year, I feel like a break is the least I deserve but my neighbor's words tonight started getting me second guessing my decisions. Sure, I was stubborn in my mindset about this now, but what about in the long-run? Am I really making the right decision here?
It's been something that's been bothering me all night now (well, that and my neighbor's emotional turmoil and wavering tears while she was talking with us-- I feel so sorry for her. She seems so fragile and as if she's floundering to stay afloat now). All I can think about, though, is whether this is truly the right decision. I've tried to remind myself that yes, everyone is different and requires different manners of self-care and choices but to be quite honest, it's not helping much. At the base of the situation, it all comes down to the internal battle between myself and society's expectations.
Throughout your entire school career, all everyone ever tells you is that college is so important and that you won't get anywhere in life without a degree. I look at my chosen career path and wonder "Do the same credentials apply here, too?". It's puzzling because frankly, compared to other careers like doctors and accountants, writing is honestly a bit more unorthodox yet somehow I still can't help but feel as if there's a looming presence of hidden requirements in order to actually be a writer. Requirements which have probably been fashioned by mysogynistic dictators who think even the plain creative task of writing should have required credentials.
I know I'm far better off in regards to my level of education than I was a year ago but the same themes in my altered beliefs are still relevant. The only difference between then and now is that today I am older and wiser and have actually experienced college firsthand. Don't get me wrong, I can't begin to say how grateful I am to have had the opportunity to go to college on the school board's dime but the honest truth of the matter is that these classes really don't even mean anything to me. I make sure I excel in my courses to the best of my ability (which is quite frankly dwindling by now) but in the grand scheme of things, I just don't have any passion for these classes. They're nothing but two more bricks to add the load on my back. Earning a college degree doesn't mean anything me. Of course, then again, that doesn't mean having one is moot to other people.
If you apparently won't get anywhere without a college degree, then does that hold strong for writing, as well? Will I be setting myself up for disaster if I choose passion over education? Degrees don't mean anything to me, but if I don't have one, then will I be at risk of higher rejection rates when I do write something and submit it for publishing? I know where my passions lie and I know how to go about pursuing them but the way the world drills the importance of college into everyone's heads, I can't help but feel guilty even considering how little a degree means to me. I feel like I'm rebelling against what society wants from and excepts of me and while I've never been one to do what I'm told, it's the fear of straying from the norm that makes me wary of my decisions.
Your entire life, you're incubated in this barred edifice as strangers drill facts and formulas into your head and for twelve long years, everyone is always telling you exactly what to do. "Take this class!" "Get these grades!" "Sit!" "Stop talking!" "Solve this!" "Write that!" "Do this!" It's dizzying! But you grow accustomed to it. So accustomed, in fact, that when you're finally released into the big, wide world, squinting in the sunlight, you have no idea how to function on your own accord. There's no one to tell you what to do, to predetermine your action queue and guide you through the motions. You're on your own and it's dark and cruel and merciless. You're unarmed and surrounded by dangers that could swoop at you at any moment and swallow you whole. School doesn't prepare you for adulthood. Not in the slightest. Perhaps that's why it's so hard for me to have faith in my own decisions, though. Because I've never really had the chance to take my life into my own hands to such an extent before.
The freedom impending is exhilarating and terrifying all the same. My parents have already promised me my gap year and the sweet freedom is so close I can already taste it but I'm also smart enough to know that all freedom comes with a cost. Whose to say once I reach my gap year, that I won't turn into a deadbeat and decide I may never want to go to back to college? I had to promise I'd go back, yet I'm not even sure if college matters to me. But, then again, like I said before, apparently my views on college are irrelevant. It's all about what matters to society and in society, college is apparently of high importance. I hate that it's so important.
Why has college become such a definitive standard these days, anyways? Why do we have to struggle through four more years of torture just for a slip of paper that apparently denotes some kind of sick superiority? I know in some occupations that yes, having a degree is crucial (like in medicine and law enforcement) but in the scope of a writing career, does it really matter? Endless writers have become impeccably famous without a single degree or even dose of college education. Authors like Ernest Hemingway and Maya Angelou made names for themsleves without a diploma. So it brings to light, then, this question: why have we suddenly placed such restrictions on a career that otherwise should be creatively freeing? Why strap such a wonderful occupation with strict criteria on what it takes to truly be a writer? Am I less qualified to pursue something I'm innately passionate in just because college is meaningless to me?
There are three aspects of my passion I am absolutely sure of and those are that I love creating people, I love creating worlds to put those people in, and I love playing God. Is there a degree for that? In a nutshell, I love studying the monopoly that is life and the only true way I know to pursue that is by going out and living, not sitting in a cold, impersonal classroom with your nose in a textbook. You can't feel the breeze by just watching the wind. I want to learn from experiencing, from stimulating myself visually and tactically, rather than by doing bookwork on facts and stories that'll die in my brain and fade away from boredom.
Piggybacking on that statement about the monopoly of life, though, looking back, part of my life for writing stemmed completely from games. As a kid, I was always playing pretend. I acted out the Wizard of Oz almost every single day, multiple times a day, and even moreso, I'd come up with these storylines for my dolls that I'd beg my mom to play out with me. My imagination was my happy place and the source of all my childhood delight. When I was really young, Barbies were my go-to victim of creativity. I'd create these extensive storylines mainly revolving around the characters themselves-- storylines in a sort of "coming-of-age" fashion. I'd group together Barbies that looked similar and then line them up by age, then take a second character and do the same with her but have her ages correspond with the ages the other one would be at the same plot point. It was a very extensive process but the catch was that all I really had were characters and settings. Any plots came straight out of my head which, at the time, was very juvenile and under-developed in the realm of storytelling, comparatively.
When I discovered the Game of Life, things changed. It quickly became my favorite board game because I just adored the chance factor evident in both the game and real life. It was never just a board game for me, though. The creativity in story developing I had possessed when I was a small child had transferred some of it's energy from Barbies into the board game, and perhaps at one point they even combined. I distinctly remember a time when I was ten years old and my parents and I had gotten evicted from the townhouse we had been renting for the past year. Through a rather unfortunate series of events, at one point we ended up living in what I believe was a Motel 6 for a time. It was summer so it wasn't like I really had any obligations so I played. To pass the time, I had my Game of Life with me. The image is still fresh in my mind: the board all set up on the crunchy hotel carpet, little plastic vans placed on the roads and paper money scattered throughout the room. Like usual, I wasn't just playing recreationally. I was playing for story development. I had these characters fabricated in my mind who I had plastic vans on the board as representation. I'd spin the wheel, move the car, and jot down every single thing it landed on on a piece of notebook paper. For each event, I calculated a different year so as to create a timeline of sorts for this imaginary human. As satisfying and fun as that method was, though, it took up space and paper. That was why when I stumbled across a much neater version, I was ecstatic.
In sixth grade, an old friend of mine introduced me to The Sims games. I had never really played video games before except for my childhood Nintendogs obsession but this was something different and quite frankly, sometihng probably much more dangerous. Beforehand, I had discovered online dressup games which I took great delight in playing in order to create the characters that popped into my head. The disadvantage I had with those games, though, was that much like the Barbies of my childhood, they were simply nothing but characters. I had no plot to work off of with them. I wanted to be able to formulate their lives, bring them and their worlds to life. That's why learning about The Sims was such a turning point in my life. It was the moment when I discoverd I could actually play with life and bring characters to life in worlds I create for them, play God and see what happens. It was everything I was searching for at the time and six years later, I'm still absolutely obsessed.
I can't help but find it so ironic that looking back, the source of all my story inspiration had been games. The situation is honestly especially ironic due to the fact that games are the exact opposite of what is expected of writers as occupational requirement. If the last few paragraphs weren't evidence enough, I have always had such a strong passion for writing, it's all I've ever wanted to do. I'm positive being a writer is my calling but if pursuing this occupation is my fate, then why should I have a degree to be considered qualified? Why should passion have qualifications and criteria? Why should we restrict creativity to tighter standards? And more importantly, why can't I have faith that my curiosities and decisions are the right choices?
I'm writing this half asleep by now. Maybe I'm just babbling exhaustedly and need a good night's sleep. Let the worries marinate through the night and see if the meat tastes any tougher out of the slow-cooker.

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supereilonwypevensie
Amanda
Artist | Student
Antarctica
I am me and no one else, and nothing will ever change that.
I'd rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I'm not. --Kurt Cobain
17. Graysexual, heteroromantic, cis. Queen of budget/closet cosplaying, prisoner of my imagination, aspiring Disney character, writer who loves words so much her fingers technically have sex with the keyboard when she types, first class hermit, hopeless romantic, super insomniac, A-class wallflower, Violet Parr.
#certifiedbadass

<3 "You were my new dream" "And you were mine" <3

Tumblr: myaekingheart.tumblr.com
Facebook: facebook.com/supereilonwycosplay
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:iconspeculumhistoriae:
SpeculumHistoriae Featured By Owner 1 day ago   Artisan Crafter
Thanks for the fave! :ahoy:
Reply
:iconsupereilonwypevensie:
supereilonwypevensie Featured By Owner 17 hours ago  Student
You're welcome! Thanks for the llama! ^_^
Reply
:iconannemarie1986:
AnneMarie1986 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the :+fav:s,Amanda!:hug::hug::hug:
Greetings from Poland!:wave::wave::wave:
Reply
:iconsupereilonwypevensie:
supereilonwypevensie Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2015  Student
You're welcome! :)
Reply
:iconmarieeve15:
Marieeve15 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fav on Jack Frost! ^^
Reply
:iconsupereilonwypevensie:
supereilonwypevensie Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2015  Student
You're very welcome! :)
Reply
:icongelwerolga:
GelwerOlga Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2015  New member Student Filmographer
Thanks for the +fav Hug 
Reply
:iconsupereilonwypevensie:
supereilonwypevensie Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2015  Student
You're welcome! :hug:
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:iconpinkypiejr12:
pinkypiejr12 Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the fave(s) Tadashi Kiss 
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:iconsupereilonwypevensie:
supereilonwypevensie Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2015  Student
You're welcome ^_^ And that gif tho XD
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