Motivation. I have plenty of it but lack the consistent discipline to carry it with me always. I also have plenty of fanciful dreams that I’ve daydreamed about fulfilling since the tender and idealistic age of 24. Dreams that I still dwell on, still speak of, sometimes to myself in the shower (where I do all my thinking), or to my closests friends and family. But only those who really listen and acept me for me, not judging my talk without the walk.
One of the dreams that motivates me to act, though I have yet to get off my ass, is that of moving to a warm climate. New York City is my city of birth. Washington Heights is the neighborhood that I call home. It feels like home, with the smell of Quisqueya (pastelitos, pollo al horno, guallaos) and the sound of rapid Dominican tongues. It also feels like prison, with buildings stacked higher and higher. The naturally sunkissed, beaming faces of my people hardened by the cold, rapid and rugged city life. A cold front not just a term during the winter season. I want to live in a smaller city in the US where Caribbean Latinos still roam yet there is cleanliness, tropical weather, space to expand and stretch, where I can dip my toes in the salt water of warm beaches. Nothing like the beaches of NY. The only warmth emanating from Jones Beach is from pepas in heat; they don’t call it Chocha Beach for nothing.
My yearning to relocate is not just about my need for constant summer heat. I would be lying if I didn’t reveal that I am no longer confident that I will succeed creatively and romantically in NYC. 13 years of working on my craft and yet I am still working a day job. 13 years of dating and committing my love to men to end up single once again. Those that surround me, those close friends and family members who don’t judge, they are establishing their lives, with husbands and kids and plans to buy homes. Everyone in my life is moving forward, building upon a strong foundation. Higher and higher they build, filling the role of construction workers who lay the bricks of skyscrapers. Dreams becoming reality. Yet here I am. Living in my mothers bedroom at 33. Working a day job that has nothing to do with my ultimate career goal. Single again, with little energy left.
Motivation. I have plenty of it but lack the consistent discipline to carry it with me always.
But now I have to. I must find the will and strength to not give up on me. Now, I have to dig deep and find it, hone it and keep it in my backpocket. It’s the only way to fulfill fanciful dreams that are uttered in the shower. It’s the only way to fill this void and live my life for me.