from my actual journal - more raw and unedited than a lot of these other posts.
I'm just one person. I like the same things every 22 year old girl likes. I'm listening to Fall Out Boy's new album on Spotify, drinking sugary coffee in bed on a lazy Saturday. I seriously considered instagramming a picture of me doing these things. I just painted my nails. Now second cup of coffee. Thinking about what outfit will make me feel pretty today. Wishing my hair was different. Wishing my face was different. Wishing I was more original. 22 coffee drinking, journaling girl. There's nothing I could say or do or make with my hands that hasn't already been done.
The people around me all seem more interesting. They all make time to see their dreams fulfilled. And they're so smart. People in this city are so intelligent. About anything and everything. They make me feel like I didn't even grow up in America sometimes, they way they talk about life and culture. Sure, I like music and exploring, trying new things and making friends. It's not the same. I'm an outsider.
And the passion I have sometimes fades because looking outward convinces me that it was never really there to begin with.
Especially for this project. What can I possibly write that would be important to anyone? Why should my thoughts and ideas matter, especially if most of them someone else has already said better?
Post journaling I instagrammed the picture and decided to wear my favorite jacket. I turned the music up louder, got out of bed. Took the joy that is offered to me daily. What I do, what you do, is worthwhile. Even if you're the only one who sees.