Golden Press


I think the thing I fear most in not that I will become a world renown writer/reporter. That’s not a fear. Though I have yet to snag a job I am not afraid I will not make it. I am most afraid of the things I could miss out on or sacrifice.

I could lose my marriage like a recent foreign correspondent who I admire. I could be in my mid 40s with no kids like a broadcast journalist I know…. although at this moment I don’t think I want to have kids. But what if a times comes and I’m sitting with friends regretting that I never had kids or got married.

I could never travel the world. I could spend my hold career chasing the dream of travelling or becoming a foreign correspondent.

I could never make a difference. I could never identify with other women in India if I have never been. I could never tell a girl  things will get better if I’m not in the right place at the right time. I could never display West African symbols in my home if I have never travelled to the motherland. How can I tell myself I’m down for the people if I’m not out in the community with the people. The impoverished, the welfare striken areas, the uneducated, the low-class of society, and the hungry.

The people who probably have more passion than I could muscle up or more will than a first time soldier going to war.

I fear often that I will lose touch with those who have not climbed the success ladder. I will be so out of touch that I can’t relate.

I fear I will lose contact with family, good friends, and others because I am so attached with the idea of succeeding I can’t fathom a world where the things I dreamed aren’t obtained.

I fear I will die alone with no grandkids running around the house. I was too demanding (picky) to keep a man. I was too concerned with succeeding that I let a good man go. So I never met the perfect mate in which I could conceive a love child. Or grow with and try to create some type of forever to death do us part.

I fear that this world I am beginning to enter journalism (newspapers) will limit my creativity. I fear my true calling is something dealing with the arts. Being a reporter is not art when you are tailored with rules, ethics, and a drive to make money.

I fear my true calling was not to be that successful at all. But to marry and become a mother. To mingle in my garden with insects and weeds. And when the house grows quiet to write novels on my laptop.

I fear my true calling was to travel the world for inspiration to write and to knock at the doors where the low-class reside. To live among them for a while and see what is tearing communities apart.

Among other fears. Is maybe I should be teaching sex education to the young sisters out here getting pregnant. To make money that will allow me to give back and send young ones to college. To start a nonprofit that works with youth and women. To work with immigration. To work with kids. To teach them to feed their craft. To go back home and become a reading specialist. For the education system is not all that great. But it could be better if I were there giving my time. Dedicating my talents.

I fear I’m too selfish. I fear I’m too hungry. I fear I’m going to stop at nothing to succeed.

I fear that my success will cripple me. My need to succeed will catch up with me. It will suffocate me. I will wake up and think about all the things I didn’t achieve because I wanted to be the best at one thing. I wanted to succeed when I had already accomplished the things that really mattered.

I think I fear success.


August 7, 2012 - Posted by | Fun, Fun Topics

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