An introduction and much needed recuperation

Yesterday I did journalism for the first time in ages.  The idea has always intrigued me, but in practice it's draining.  Too much presentation, not enough creativity.

The longer I go without writing, the less adept I feel.  I'm disillusioned, with myself really.  Freshman year of college, I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Foreign correspondent.  Period.  I was a brilliant writer, hadn't my friends and family always told me so. There was no question, being a journalist, I'd get to live in the world, see the world, and that's what I wanted.  Then I discovered the horrors of an editor, taking my carefully chosen words and changing them.  The first article I saw printed had been butchered.  Only the information remained the same.

I changed career goals.  Gourmet, Vogue, Voyager.  Publications like these would be my one-day-outlets.  But I stopped writing.  I spent time in France, Italy, and Brazil.  I wrote about none of it.  That was out the window.

I'll settle.  Teaching will be fun.  ESL.  Abroad.  I'll be in the world…

But I won't be participating in the same way.  Sure, teaching will support me.  It's still the short term plan.  The, I'm-almost-out-of-uni-and-don't-want-to-starve plan.  But, but.

I don't want to stop there.  I'm terrified of being stagnant.  Of getting into a profession, then needing to stay.  Losing my creativity.  Having no time to write.

So preemptively and belatedly I will write of my adventures.  Skimming through my rambling journals and reliving the moments.  I'm hoping this will also help with the unbearable itch I'm beginning to feel again, after being stagnant in one city for almost two months.

I've been as productive as Fitz these past few months.