Before I get into this post, I want you to know that when I share posts like this I don’t do so to illicit pity or sympathy. By the time I am sitting down to share my thoughts with you all, I have already processed my feelings and I am okay. Indeed, when I receive messages of pity or sorrow on my behalf I feel as though I have failed in my endeavor. My purpose in sharing posts like this is to encourage those who may feel or have felt this way in their own lives. I want you to find yourself comforted by what I have to share. That’s all.
I come from a family of high achievers. My parents, originally from Haiti, have worked their fingers to the bone every day they’ve been in this country. In doing so, they have managed to put four children through college and they have owned multiple homes without anyone else’s assistance. By the time my mother was my age, she had already had all four of her kids, and she was, by all intents in purposes far more accomplished than I am.
For much of my life I have tried it their way. For the majority of my 20s I was doing fairly well. I had a good job, paid all of my bills on time, worked my way through Graduate school, and I presented the image of what they had worked so hard to achieve. I wasn’t happy with where my life was headed, of course, but I was on a solid track. I even got married, moved back to Massachusetts and got a promotion at a job, I was sure, was going to take me to the next level in my career. Then I got fired (read about that HERE), and it changed everything. I knew then that I was never going to be content with working, solely, for someone else. I just couldn’t do it, and really, I could never hack it. And now I’m here, 5 years later, a full-time blogger, but truthfully, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing or where I’m going.
I am a disappointment to my parents. I know this to be true. Not because I have not, at any point, made them proud, I suspect that I have; I’m sure that I have. But the truth is, I am I living a life fear beneath what they or I even would have imaged for myself. I could not have ever predicted that this would be my life, and I know I am not alone in being surprised by how life has unfolded. But there is a lesson in all of this, and the lesson is really about perseverance. I have no reason to believe, whatsoever, that something will come of this platform I’ve created. I don’t know one day from the next, but I know there will be a point at which all of this will make sense, and that, for me, is reason enough to continue.
I do not have the backing of a million followers on Instagram. I have few friends, and even fewer family members who even know what I do or care to read or share any of my posts. I have every reason in the world to throw in the towel. But I don’t and you shouldn’t, either. If you have ever felt less than magical, or questioned what the hell your purpose is, know that your purpose is to survive. Your purpose, no matter the obstacle, is to endeavor to muster what little bit of magic you can find within yourself and spread it wherever you go. Every single day is a day worth living.