Finding my way

I wrote this at almost 4 a.m., therefore I did NOT take the time to proofread this yet. But I needed to share.

I'm was lost for quite some time.

There was a time when I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I graduated high school with the intention of spending four years at Florida A&M, where I would become the master of all things journalism. After college, I would move to New York--or any decent-sized city that was a far away from Palatka, Fla. (distance- and remsemblance-wise) as possible--and start my own music or movie magazine. But the more I wrote, came up with, an copy edited stories, and the better I got at it, I knew that I would never have a fulfilling career with it.

As a result, I somehow managed to turn a two-year stint at Winn-Dixie into a nearly decade-long "career." Sans the health insurance and benefits. During the latter half of my money-handling, chicken-frying, bread-baking period at the W/D, my funds dwindled, the majority of my friends moved away and moved on with their lives, and I became satisfied with the meager situation I had worked out for myself. Actually, the better term would be "worked my way into."

It's perplexing and, to an extent, frightening that signs could dangle all around me and friends could throw out all the hints, yet I barely noticed anything. So caught up in keeping or finding a steady eight-hours-a-day job just for the sake of having a steady, eight-hours-a-day job, I didn't realize that I was one of the only people who memorized Saturday Night Live sketches (not the Lonely Island parody song). Never took into consideration that I had movie movies on my shelf than pennies in the bank. That I once took the utmost pleasure in cranking out short short stories every week for my eighth grade peers to peruse. I never put two and two together to come to the conclusion that what I did with blogs and social network status updates, I could expand to larger media.

After intense internal battles, countless previously empty words and one hell of a bombshell dropped in my chunky lap, the urge to write hit walloped me like Gucci Mane wallops hip hop music's reputation. But not only did I get the desire to churn out a screenplay, I got the desire to be funny and finally get paid to do it. I am a funny bastard, and I say that without any traces of ego. Why should I not be SNL's star performer, the creator of It's Always Sunny in Orlando, or Moses in the 2012 independent film Othello 2?

No matter the dream, it can come true if you believe. And know what the hell you're doing. So in order to make a fraction of what many of you might consider my unattainable goals attainable, I have purchased from half.com my first screen writing book. After work tomorrow, I will begin my extensive research of Second City and Groundlings improv comedy troupes. Because although I can write and make people laugh, these skills need molding.

God it feels great to have some focus in my life and to have goals set for myself. I love that I get ideas for stories and scripts from the most random conversations, people and objects. Although I curse this new found canyon of ideas for keeping me awake at 3:13 a.m. blogging, I'm more excited about my future than I have been since I received university acceptance letters in the mail in 2002. It's been quite a long time coming, and I have a feeling it will be a long time going, but I am quite content.