Just Set Me Free- Dreams Are Like Balloons

Dreams are like balloons. I swear.

So I looked at my previous posts tonight and I almost shut down the computer and went to bed. One post that really got me was where I wrote how I was going to finish my book by Spring Break and if that didn't work out, I'd at least have it done by summer. That's funny because I gave up on that story months ago. Saturday, I gave up on the story that followed the first (and by first, I actually mean thirteenth in a long line of stories that I've started over the past two years.) And after typing that out, I just want to cry. I know I'm sixteen, but I feel like I'm constantly failing at the one thing I'm actually good at. Now we're on lucky story number fifteen.

So the past couple of days haven't been fun. Like I said, I gave up on another manuscript, feeling I'd overcomplicated my whole project. I'm all too afraid that I'm going to be the girl that talks about writing a book all the time but never has anything to show for it. I know I'm just a kid, and I know this crazy, obsessive, I'm-going-to-take-over-the-world-by-eighteen-just-to-prove-teens-can-change-the-world-too mentallity of mine can induce some eye-rolling. But it's nights like tonight that I know I can do this, just to prove to others that I can. And not only will I prove it to the naysayers; I'll prove it to myself before the show's over.

It's nights like tonight that I realize what's important. It's nights like these that consist of runny eyeliner and playing songs like "Home Sweet Home" on repeat. It's nights like these that, through this mess that's become a tragedy in my teenage mind, I can see the things that truly matter so very clearly.

After I wrote the other post where I plastered my raw dreams all over the wall of my blog for all of the three people who actually read this, I got a text. It was midnight and my Dad told me to go listen to "Home Sweet Home." I did. It hit home. Last night, I bought Carrie Underwood's version on iTunes. I've been listening to it ever since.

I've also talked about home in my blog before. I'm revisiting that theme tonight, seeing as the word "home" is repeated about thirty times in this song. Thinking about it now, home for me is less of a place than it is a time. To me, home feels like a time in the near future when I've actually written something worthwhile. When I've actually made it to where I want to be. See, to me, home is the epitome of happiness, as I bet it is for a lot of people. Home is that day when you smile, look back, and say, "Hey. I did it. This is what I've wanted. This is what I've worked for. I did it. And I'm proud because I am who I always wanted to be. And nobody stopped me."

So here I go, ranting about my writing again: I'm starting a new manuscript Wednesday. I'm giving myself a month to finish it. Make it or break it. I won't second guess myself. I won't  over-complicate things because I don't think my writing's good enough. And I won't worry about the people who don't have the time for me. I won't let them pull me down. I won't.

"I'm on my way. Just set me free. Home sweet home."

So I'm encouraging you, whoever you are, to believe in these, your dreams. They are the greatest things you have. A dream is like a balloon. Instead of helium, it's filled with potential, your potential, so much in fact that it's going to float right out of your hands if you don't hold onto the end of the string tight enough. And that string? That's a chance. Everyone's got one, and even when it slips out of your hands, if you swipe at it again, you might just find yourself a second chance. You hold onto that string and believe that your gonna' be just fine and pretty soon everyone who didn't believe in you will look like ants. You'll reach the stars before the night is over.

I'm going to hold onto my balloon until I find the utter happiness and satisfaction of making my dream come true. Then it's home sweet home.

-Shelby

P.S. Big thanks to the one friend that was there for me tonight. You showed me the truth. And God is good.

P.P.S. Disregard the part where balloons pop when they get too high up in the atmosphere. That kind of kills my whole metaphor.

P.P.P.S. That's my picture, I took it at the drive-in a couple weeks back. That night was nice. It was before a lot of things went crazy. Still, I look at that picture and feel better. I'm proud. hahaha.