I just had a mild freak-out. Okay, who am I kidding, it was a major freak-out. Life seems to be whizzing past me and the things I want like money, sustenance, a lover to cuddle, aren't materializing fast enough. So I exploded all over my telephone, my mother on the other line, doing her best "It will all be okay" rendition. 

It worked. She managed to calm me down, stop my tears and help me realize the irrational person I was being. Mothers are great that way. 

As I hung up with her, after venting my frustrations on being overworked and success not coming (I said it was major) I realized that success wasn't coming because I wasn't meeting it half way. All my life I've wanted to be a writer (literally, since I was five). I'm still paying a university for an English degree that hasn't gotten me any closer to a published book. I've been writing an inspirational fashion blog for five years that still feels half-baked in my mind. Yet and still, I haven't been committed to really writing and moving the needle on my goals and I'm learning that wanting to write is not the same as writing. 

I sat done to my computer, pulled Google docs up on my screen and copied over all of my notes from scribbling into my cell phone on the train. It's a start. It won't guarantee that I won't have another meltdown, but at least this time it won't be over me wanting something that I haven't put true effort and time into.