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“I don’t know how I got here.”

I told myself while I was staring at a blank page on my laptop. That’s where I always start. A blank page. Until it’s filled with more or less 1,000 words as a finished blog post for my client. Wow, I make a living from writing.

Oh yeah, not a big deal. A lot of people make some money from writing. Some money. Not close to how much a stable corporate job can make me. What a shame.

But I’m not.I’m not one bit ashamed. I’ve traded a comfortable life for one that doesn’t look so attractive on my resume. Now, I understand why not many people do this. When I go to job interviews, my prior experiences open up a good deal for me. Yet here I am, writing for a living. Making “some money”. I had no prior experience with this. Merely writing on my personal journal can’t be called experience. I had no experience charging for every word I write.

A few dollars for a nice article… Sure, why not?

I didn’t go back to zero. I’m lucky enough to have enough despite being at the beginning stages of this fight. Should I even call it a fight? It’s such a romanticized word I should just call it “attempt” and not as big a word as “fight”.

Because I’ve charged the battery, I’ve no success story to say that I started from rock-bottom. I started after rock-bottom. Not so fun but enough to keep me alive. I decided not to fulfill my dreams in one big go. Because between today and that big thing, there’s what you call “hard work”.

Hard work is easy. How funny I’d say that? You know, you think of it, you wake up hoping you can accomplish so much, and go to sleep wondering where did time go… Familiar? It’s easy when you just think of it. But when you try to stick to a certain discipline while being away from the “system” you have been accustomed to, you’d realize, “Ahh, I’m doomed.”

And maybe even a fool.

Just how many times I’ve felt that, I can’t count anymore. I’m just a bit proud of myself today that I haven’t yielded to that tempting idea of having a nice Christmas basket. It’s hard though to say that I wouldn’t. It’s still a few months to go before the chilling mood of the Christmas holidays creep into me. Still, when I look back and see how sore my eyes have gotten crunching numbers during late nights in the office, I figure working in my home clothes sounds a lot more enticing.

But I need some help. From myself. I need me to believe in me and stop comparing me.

It’s not so bad. Not all the time. It only gets so bad when I get reminded of how easier it was to join my friends in booking a plane ticket for a long weekend trip. Suddenly, life seemed harsh because I had to restrain myself from purchasing an additional pair of weekend flats. I can make a purchase but I chose not to. Because with freelancing, some months are good, some months are not. I have to save up for when the clouds are darker. Mind you, they get dark.

This dreaming thing is corny. You’d chase after something you’re not even sure is worth your pains. It leads you to a tunnel you don’t even know how long. Some parts are dark, some parts have some light peeking in. Why the hell would anyone want to go through that? Well, I guess in the deepest part of our hearts, we know the tunnel ends. Unless you know of one which doesn’t. As for me, I don’t even know if I’m in a tunnel. I just go where the river flows. That makes me a part of the river then. The crazy river.

This life isn’t too grand yet but Cheetos and some beer can always make it better. I can only hope for the grand things but not be so sure about the future. I’ve no desire to change the world. I only want to fulfill some small dreams from places to places, bit by bit, bird by bird (just so I can use “Bird by Bird” in my sentence. It’s the title of the next book I wanna read).

It’s all good. Not so good, but it’s good.