When I was in my early twenties I was angry. Angry about what was going on in my life. Angry at my dad and mom for their divorce when I was eight at myself for being discharged from Marine boot camp and for not having someone to share my life with.
All of these things made me very mad at life and there were moments I wanted to die.
I think the jobs I had, or at least one of them, made me feel that way more than others.
The only job I really enjoyed after high school was one I had in a gym. The others were just markers along the road.
I felt like a slave to my life. It wasn’t until I quit my job, stopped attending my college classes and started writing that I felt alive.
When I left my job and moved to Las Vegas with my sister and her family, my girlfriend who would be my wife followed a month later, life changed. I still wrote, but not as much as I’d liked. When my girlfriend and I got our own apartment things were really good, then I lost my job and started writing again, but only for myself. I never told her I was writing, it was something I did to keep my sanity as well as to comfort myself for losing the job.
When I got another job, one that I took because I needed a job, it was not something I enjoyed, but the people were awesome. When the opportunity to change jobs for one closer to home came, I jumped at it. I’ve been at that job for the past thirteen years. But, the job hasn’t felt right for a while. Like something was missing. I felt like a slave to my job, to my life, to everything around me. I wasn’t doing what I wanted for most of the last thirteen years.
It wasn’t until a few years into my current job that I started writing, mostly from encouragement from a friend.
Writing has never felt like a slave driver to me. It’s always felt like something I did because I liked it, not because I felt forced into it.
There many times I’ve felt like a slave to something, anger, regret, loss, suffering and pain. When any of these come up they occupy my mind for a long time, weeks, sometimes years. But through writing I’ve learned to get past them. Through writing I’ve found my way.
I’ve been a slave for too long and I’m trying to break that.
For the next few weeks I’ll be doing posts on breaking the chains of being a slave to emotions. Always on Friday. Won’t you follow along with me.
What are you being a slave to? Answer in the comments!