When Sweet Turns Bitter

January 10, 2009

Too commonly it has been said that time is what heals even the most vicious of wounds and this truth has by now become a comforting cliché; the reassurance that all miseries eventually shall come to pass the hope which inspires people to look forward and not remain static in a painful present. The validity of this notion I can verify in regards to both the experiences of myself and others, though I find it important to stress that all pains worth the mention are bound to in some way have left scars.

“The course of life never turns out as expected,” my mother has told me ever since the youngest years of my infancy in an attempt to make certain that her daughter, Miss Josephine, never is to travel farther than she can see down the road. Though I have despised those words since the fist time I heard them, I am certain that my mother’s mention of them served a purpose; reminding me of never submitting to the extravagancies conjured by a youthful mind yet untamed by the wisdom brought on by experience.

The wisest of men are those who have realised that there are no certainties in life; that nothing may ever be taken for granted. To do so is to disregard from doubt and to submit to the convincing allures of folly; to become one of the fools who doth think that they are wise. It is a fallacy which most fear, but which most commit never the less. To my own disappointment, I have realised that neither I am excused for having carried out such an act as my most recent experiences have cemented this new knowledge in my mind.

For the past year there is a certain word which has brought much felicity to my days, a word which I have carefully introduced into every conversation where it rightfully could be mentioned. The word carried great importance to me and I would not lie to you if I say that I indeed were very much in love with speaking the word. To me it was a word of great symbolism and importance; it brought substance into a life so devoid of meaning and possibility for improvement that indolence took the place of motivation in a character once praised for its ambition.

For the past week this word of verbal sweetness—this word of my affections—has grown sour and it now leaves a bitter stain upon my tongue as I attempt to recover from the pains caused by a unforeseen blow to my view of self. To doubt doubt and to be convinced of convictions has proved poison to what was once so very dear to me. The word itself has not been altered—so it can in no way be blamed—but my perception of its sound—once so clear and bright!—has changed and it will never again be spoken by me with the smile of delight.

“How can such deep affections so suddenly be replaced with contempt and disregard?” I hear you ask, and indeed your curiosity shall be satisfied, for I have not authored this incoherent collection of words with the intent to keep you, my dear reader, in the dark. You shall see that the answer to your question—so rightfully asked—is to be found during study of the person affectionate; the object of love seldom to be blamed for a lover’s change of heart.

Cambridge has a noble ring to its name; it speaks of ambition and tradition to my ears; two sentiments which I value and celebrate, and I would have considered it an honour to be chosen to be part of its long history, but such a future was never to be mine. I no longer mention Cambridge when I speak, it has been confined to become a subject of my own reproach; the sweet word has turned bitter and harsh for it is no longer a symbol of opportunity, but one of personal failure and futures to never be known.

Soon I have for two decades been alive and am I fortunate a fifth of my life has already passed me by. One would consider the prime of my youth long gone, but its folly seems reluctant to bide me adieu; we have accompanied each other for too many years to ever be completely apart; were I not foolish in my convictions I would not be who I am; the question being whether a wiser me would be to prefer? Is doubt in conviction what I need to revive?

In retrospect even the most ambiguous of enigmas wear their answers on their sleeves; readily seen as well as read—why did I not consider to look while they were in my view? Alas! That is the way in which folly is defined; as blindness affecting one’s perception of the most obvious; folly being the symptom of complication, of shrouding and concealing what was left out in the open for everyone to see! This realisation is soon to be followed by revitalised reproach: Why was consideration never considered? Why did conviction appear so compelling, so very convincing? Why—oh, why?—was the unclouded clarity of certainty concealed to me?

Had I doubted more—and not been so very convinced—success might very well have been mine. Had I been less convinced—and had I been a person in doubt—my future might have been another! Had I not been as overly confident in myself as I were I would have doubted my abilities, knowledge and talents more. Had I doubted myself I would have questioned what I knew and been motivated to heal the flaws which most apparently were present in my person. Had I doubted and healed myself of conviction’s ignorance my premature honour and pride would perhaps then have been rightfully mine?

Indeed, I committed the fallacy which humanity seems unable to abandon; the inability to realise its own limits. Man is not an omnipotent creature; he does not have the ability to predict the future; all his attempts to do so will eventually be proven wrong. My mistake—I beg you to learn from mine and man’s mistakes—was that I reaped my harvest before my fields had been ploughed. I were so certain of my success that I celebrated it before celebrations were due and failure was all that I left for myself to find.

Perhaps my mother was right when she mused to me that life never takes the course which one expects or wishes it to follow, no matter how much I despised those her words. Had I been more attentive perhaps my fate would have been another; had I convinced my mind to contain a fair amount of doubt I might not have attempted to fly on wings premature. Though I am a fifth of a century old I have barely lived at all and experience cannot easily be considered mine. It is through my folly that I grow to become more than the sum of my parts, it is through the blows of disappointment that I learn the lessons of life.

For, indeed, my dear mother was right: life is fickle and its course is never set in stone. The faintest whisper is enough to steer it off course as life is nothing but a ship sailing in the dark. Wisdom of the past is the only light which serves as a guide, but in a world of unlimited possibilities one is at times all too easily lured to follow the sparkle of fool’s gold.

No longer may Cambridge be the intellectual port where I head, but however knowing that my folly and I are alone to blame I have been given an opportunity to learn from my mistakes—I have been given yet another valuable lesson by life—and I may be more of a person now than I were before sweet turned bitter in my mouth. This pain will no doubt leave a scar, but the initial sting has now faded and it will soon only throb during the darkest hours of my days.

I may never fully forgive myself for having allowed the opportunity of a lifetime to pass me by, but I have learnt that the wisest course of action is to be a fool and doubt one’s wisdom; as even the wisest also are fools.

Though the sun is shining outside and the weather is quite amiable, I feel as if my life is going no-where; that all I am really good for is to sit in front of the computer and do no-thing but stare into thin air, awaiting the arrival of something extraordinary.

Though, the extraordinary is so much more than the ordinary, and as my life is devoid of even the most mundane of ordinary events, I believe I will have to stare into nothingness for eternties before something extraordinary accidentally happens to stumble past my glazed vision.

I am anxious as I intend to apply to Cambridge University’s Archaeology and Anthropology-program this fall, in little more than a month, and I need to finish my application.

I have a certificate of Advanced English (though I in reality would have preferred a certificate of Proficiency in English, something my own inability kept me from attaining).

I also have grades far above what is required, something which at first surprised me and which I now appreciate as it is one thing less to be worried about.

The school/college reference I trust one of my high school teachers will be kind enough to complete for me, as they are most delightful people – all of them. <3 Yet another thing I do not have to feel anxious regarding, in other words.

…And then there is the personal statement, the most important part of any university application. Though I have laboured its creation for more than half a year (I believe it being) I have come nowhere.

Though I believe myself independent and carefree, I can not help at the same time being bit of a cultural chameleon/social sponge. I absorb and react to the environment I am in; a trait of mine I am not fully convinced is either good or bad.

However, this means that though I am Miss Josephine who is no-one but herself, I have also adapted to fit into Swedish society, something I always have feared doing.

As I outlined in my January 18th entry It Is Taboo To Believe, it is hard for a genuine Swede to believe themself valuable.

The effect of this – my inability to value my own accomplishments and to fully understand who I am – has created problems for me as far as the personal statement is concerned.

It is hard to outline one’s potential and accomplishments when one believes in them, but during a whole life has been taught that no one else does. Of course, my family has always supported me, but to not be looked down upon by society and subsequently enable one to succeed, one has to fit into one of the templates assigned to one.

So, in other words, it is hard to write a short essay about what one during a whole life has been taught is taboo to even speak of – one’s value, potential and future.

And so I sit here, wondering what I have accomplished. I have come to the conclusion that though my grades are good, they are not the best. Sufficient, but not amazing.

I wonder, how am I supposed to explain in my statement my reasons for studying a subject unrelated to the one I now wish to pursue? To write that I am stubborn is probably not the best as the University is looking for applicants with minds open to new ideas. But then, I ask myself, as I realised my original convictions wrong, can then not this be considered as an openness of mind?

I do not know.

How shall I explain my academic potential impeccable when I have gone through little to illustrate my value? In reality, having dropped out from a college of high standards, claiming the courses offered were at a level too low would be sufficent illustration of this – but that is in my own mind.

Is having dropped out from a college and spent half a year on a quest to once more find oneself proof of academic potential? Have I wasted six months of my life to no good? For, I could very well have done something different – accomplished something. But then, had I done that, I would still be looking for myself.

I am now about to study a full-time course in Archaeology at the University of Gotland. Being terrified of ever moving away from home – but at the same time having realised that my future lies far away from the lands of my birth – I study the subject on-line.

Doing so, though the course is offered full-time, means I will have a lot of time on my hands to spend in the pursuit of other accomplishments. What has be kept in mind here, however, is that Miss Josephine is a Swedish native (even if it is involountarily so) and thus unfamilar with the status surrounding accomplishments. In many ways, it is a dimension of life unknown to most Swedes.

So, there is a nagging voice in the back of my mind, the inner Miss Josephine who is anxious beyound comprehension about the prospect of probably not being good enough to ever fit into a fine British University, telling me to do something.

But, what to do?

I could very well apply to become a substitute teacher, but I have no experience whatsoever with previous work with children. Further, I have already been rejected once by the association, something I like to believe being because of my then prospective full-time nursing studies, though I in reality know it was because of my severely lacking skills when it comes to interaction with other human beings.

So, if that option is impossible, then there must be others.

I had an idea, one which appealed to me greatly, of studying two full-time courses this upcoming year: one in Archaeology at the University of Gotland and one in Japanese at the University of Stockholm. One on campus, one on-line. I could have passed both two courses with flying graces, be sure. I do not doubt my own potential, I only doubt people’s convictions in my own potential.

However, I happen to live in Sweden – which should be obvious this far into the argument – something which makes my life very complicated. I have stressed these points before, but what is one more time when it is my future I am speaking of?

In Sweden, there is no way a student may be allowed to take two full-time courses at two different universities. No way. Never. Whatsoever. And so, I had to choose. And I chose Archaeology because I want to study Archaeology and Anthropoogy at the University of Cambridge next year. I believe it will show the admissions committé that I am passionate about my prospective subject.

However, not being able to study Japanese means I still am without proof of further accomplishments.

I could of course take a part-time job, but as I lack academic training and because there is no such thing as anthropology in Sweden, that option is also exhausted, to not say impossible and unattainable. (For, what point is there to be employed at the local food-store when it is no accomplishment to mention in one’s personal statement?)

Then, the creative Miss Josephine tells me: “Why do we not become artists?”

I could very well send my artwork to a few publishing companies for consideration. I believe myself somewhat talented, enough to land a position as a children’s book-illustrator. Perhaps. Mayhaps. Maybe.

But what is such an accomplishment to mention in one’s personal statement when it must be completed in little more than a month? It is to no use, and is thus a future plan, not a current one.

I could of course continue writing my own children’s books and illustrate them, as well as continuing to go insane over my novels(s) and my short stories. I could of course continue to paint my stones, bead my necklaces, embroider my dolls, sew my plushies, write in my Moleskine, sketch in my notebooks – being creative.

I would like this very much. But it is nothing one can put in a personal statement. That I am an artist and an anthropologist at heart may be too ambiguous for the admissions committé to appreciate. And still, that is who I am.

The person I see myself as being in 20 years of time is exceedingly boring, and still the prospect of it makes my heart skip a beat.

In 20 years – or perhaps much sooner that that – I see myself the resident of a adorable cottage in a rural area, the surrounding fields mine to roam, the surrounding forests mine to explore, vthe elvet-black starry skies mine to marvel over.

In that future, I am married with children. I am a trained anthropologist and I hold a part-time position as a university lecturer as I also am a teacher at heart. When not elaborating complex therories regarding the origin of the human form, its evolution and its current situation – its thoughts, its psychology, its purpose – I will be a mother, a novelist and an illustrator.

Academic works and novels both flow from my hands and imaginationg, alongside with children’s stories and associated illustrations, not to forget the short stories and their moral messages.

It is a future I find delight in imagining, and still, I believe the qualities of mine which bring me such joy are those which will keep me from attaining the future of my dreams.

That I am an artistic anthropologist is not something to be proud over. Oh no. In this world one has to be specialised, interested in one area only. Passions may not be many, they shall be few.

But then, is there any room left for one’s own being to grow, as one’s true purpose in this world is to be both happy and realise all the quirks of one’s own person?

I believe not.

So, who is this elusive creature otherwise known as Miss Josephine? What is it she wishes to write on her personal statement and knows she may not?

Miss Josephine wishes to explain her potential through an elaboration os the following concepts:

  • That she possesses an open mind as she is able to realise original, foolish convictions wrong.
  • That she is a creative scientist, something she believes a pre-requisite for academic success – to possess both wits and imagination to propel scientific advances forward through.
  • That she sees herself as a teacher, her aim being the attainment of a doctorate degree.

These are all marvellous concepts, so why is Miss Josephine in doubt? She does not know herself, is the short answer to such a question…

(…but it may have something to do with that she just accidentally snapped her last beading needle in half, is running out of beads, and the supply store is located a 40-minute walk away from her current location as commuteer communications are scarce over that distance, and she can not leave home as she has been assigned to baby-sit her two youngest sisters who are reluctant when it comes to covering distances 40 minutes by foot.)

Ah well, all I have to do is to labour my personal statement for a month and a week longer before the long wait of anxious anxiety begins, being ended by devastating disappointment or by ambiguous appreciation.

Overthrowing Darkness

June 17, 2008

This evening I set out on a midnight walk. In the midst of the shift between dusk and dawn I realized something. My realization was not concerning the nature of the night-less summer nights of my country as much as it concerned the lack of darkness that all city- or suburban-dwelling people have grown accostumed to.

In our modern world, the 21st century, the world of today, tomorrow’s yesterday; there is no such thing as darkness of night. Half of a 24-hour day hay has been stripped of its characteristics, the day’s nemesis has been robbed of its suffocating cloak. Through the assassination of the daylight’s opposite even the most natural of cycles has grown uniform.

There is no longer such a thing as darkness of night. Electric fires have chased it away forever. The lone night’s unlit hours have been abolished from the civilised world, but at which cost?

Nature is an equilibrium and it will always be. If the darkness of night has been chased away, then it must take its refuge elsewhere. Somewhere in this world there must be a safe haven for the darkness. And indeed there is. As people chased darkness off the surface of the globe it ceazed to be visible. Instead it moved into our cities, and it lurks in the narrow alleys between tall buildings. Too deep for the electric fires to illuminate them.

It is however not the shadows that have become the new home of darkness’. No, it is more gruesome than that. Darkness has found its way into the human heart. There, it bides it time ’till the night arrives when its black nature will reign once more.

Through the abolishment of darkness the celestial guardians are no longer needed. The deities that people have turned to for millenia have been brushed off as unnecessary and too ancient for modern civilisation. The modern human believes she is fit enough to care for herself. How vain is she in this conviction? She is too confident and she will one night have to face the darkness from within her own kind. Then she will be far from the helpful reach of the guardians of the skies. It is ironic, how man only can be saved by the protectors whom he has chased away.

Throughout the ages the starry skies have protected the earth. They have been diamonds of the skies. Though unable for us to reach they have been equally valuable to us during history as diamonds are today. They are the miniature lanterns of worlds far away. They are holes in the heavens’ black velvet draperies, small beams of light that see us from afar.

The unimaginably large is for us to very small. The stars of diamond heavens have been our parents, the ones to whom we owe our lives. We are the children of stars, far more magnificent, yet not. They are hard for us to imagine, yet without them, we would never have been born.

Throughout our childhood they have protected us, illuminated the shadows and chased off the dark creatures of our own imaginations. They have been the candles in the dark that chased the mosters under our beds away.

In modern times the celestial guardians are no longer present and the electrical fires which man has created are burning with more strength than ever before. Man has grown, left his infancy. He is now the unruly teenager who rejects the words of parents who only mean well.

Our electric gadgets and artificial lights will not offer us any protection as darkness is planning its coupe. It will soon strike, its dark tasks aided by traitors from within our own lines – the children who follow the path of darkness, all because they were never blessed by the stars.

It Is All Worship

January 24, 2008

A documentary was presented before me yesterday evening by the channel that had been left on, after the previous show had ended. It was a documentary about fashion models – the models, the modelling profession and the life both on and back stage.

I am the kind of person, that have I started to watch a show or a movie (or read a book), I have to finish watching/reading. Even if the plot fails to engage me, I have to know in what way the story ends or I will be consumed by Mind’s theories of how the story was finished. I have way too many more important things to consider, so I figure it is better to spend an hour or two watching, perhaps finding something in the production hilarious, than to listen to Mind for the rest of the day.

Back on topic…

As I watched the documentary, containing interviews with people having been labeled “super models,” interviews with people involved in the business, the life of the models etc. etc., I was struck by the similarity between the worship of super models and ancient times’ heroes (and even further back in time, deities).

In the modern world of today, the deities and heroes of the past, are since long gone. All the major religions and beliefs are based upon holy people who have not wandered the world for quite some time.

Christianity has its God, his son and the people who play their roles in the Holy Book. Judaism has the same characters in their holy scriptures, but without the son. The same accounts for Islam.

In the non-monotheistic religions, the same things are true. Buddhism is based upon the teachings of the Buddha, before his passing, and the deities of Hinduism lived many centuries ago.

It is the same for all religions – they are based upon the actions of people and deities which have not been seen for a very long time. No wonder that the modern man is in need of people of less spiritual, and more real and obtainable, qualities.

The modern heroes and, I dare say it, deities, are people who have become someone – super models, but also, musicians and actors and the like. These are people who are a little more down to earth, and people who most others can relate to. They are separate from the world either by their appearance or their talents, but they are still people who wander the streets of the world. The belief of that one one day may come across them during a daily adventure, means a lot and provides strength to the worship of them.

People are in desperate need of someone who can guide them, someone for them to worship. The religions of the world may be the most important for some, but when they are lacking real people, people who one can connect with take their place.

I see no other reason for why people whose lives have been exposed are offered the kind of worship which they actually enjoy on a daily basis. They become the role models of the youth, the become the object of the young’s desires.

People have a need for worship. And as long as they are happy, they may continue. I simply find it fascinating in which ways the human mind and form work. In the end, however, it is all worship.

Late evenings are best spent with a cup of steaming hot tea, a fruit or some bread, while curled up in a comfortable sofa. The hair left undone, wild as it was meant to be. Comfortable clothes which one only dare to wear at home and late at night, when no one is around.

Late evenings like these spur many thoughts. I am not one of a dying breed, I am one of a breed that during recent years has grown in numbers, lured more people to join. The breed has been looked upon, joked about, seen as being of a lesser value. Ill fit in society, having escaped to where they can not be judged.

Late at night, when all lights are out, their faces are still lit. The dim blue from a screen is reflected in their eyes. Their faces are always motionless, though they however may feature a swift smile or a single tear.

The people who this description fits, are people who are just like I. They are people who have not dared to enter the real world, they fear losing control. They know what the late evenings provide, they know nothing of the gifts of the world, for they have yet to discover them.

During the day people like I sit and sigh. They are gloomy, the dim blue of a screen has rid their faces of all their colors. Eyes half open, every breath a challenge. What they long for the most the day can not provide. It is when darkness falls that they are truly alive.

They take little time to come home, having completed the daily chores. They rid themselves of all memories of the day, the clothes go into the laundry, the hair is undone. A pair of slippers cover their feet, the steaming cup of tea is always nearby.

A pale hand is stretched out far, reaching for the piece of technology which brings meaning into their lives. A remote control, stylish colorful and black. A finger brushes up toward the first button and the dim screen is lit yet again. The blue light which is reflected by their faces is the only contact they ever have with anything. The faces smiling from beyound the screen is the only volountary contact they have with people during the day.

Emotionally drained, or scared of pouring their soul into something, they stare blankly into the air, their eyes seeing things swirling past on a screen lit from behind. The only way people like this can ever feel and experience, is through the actions of others, the emotions people of plastic have been payed to perform.

When tragic stories are presented before them, they may cry and rid themselves of the feelings they have bottled up inside. When romantic stories are dancing before their eyes, they sit and sigh, wondering why such wonderful feelings, such magical experiences never are theirs to adore.

Blind are these people, those to whom I belong, who believe that they never will soar, having been too scared to ever take off and see if they can fly. Saddening it also is for these people, who disappear while being in front of screen. They withdraw from the world, convinced that their only friends, their only allies in life, are those who never have been born.

It can be argued forever if it is wrong for people to adore others who never have been true, people whose faces belong to others, who are real, but who in turn does not know that their audience exists.

Some may say that these people are fed with lies, stories which never have been true. But these people have understood something others have not – the importance of being able to dream.

The dream, the idea, of one day being a special someone, like the ones being romanticized on screen, is what keeps these people alive.

As one of these people – as one of a dreaming, non-dying breed, still being one with the ability to reason and argue – I say that this breed should be let be. For, one day, they will all walk down a street and bump into a person who upon looking them into the eyes knows that they have found their special someone who they will share the rest of their life with.

Upon having seen eternity in someone else’s eyes, the plastic people of the dim blue light, the people who are not themselves, will no longer appeal to the breed to which I belong. For, what they have dreamed of during late evenings with steaming cups of tea, is now theirs, now and forever more.

Cynism is Not For Me

January 8, 2008

I have decided that a while now has passed. That decision also brings (yet another) revelation – that I am eddicted to sharing my thoughts. Ah, well, there are far more (and less philosophical) things to be addicted to.

The point of this journal (which I shall try to keep as short as Josephinely possible) is that life never should be affected by the bad choices one is bound to make. At least not in the long run.

My heart has already made a decision and it is that it is on strike until further notice. (Further notice being when I have rid myself of my demons (i.e. dropped out of nursing school).) Until I have done that, I will not be truly happy.

I am sure there are poeple in this world who can live with not being truly happy, but I am not one of them. I am the kind of person who would choose happiness and love over money.

Part of being human is to make mistakes. We learn through practice.

Oscar Wilde said:
Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.

A common saying says [upon the topic of mistakes]:
It human to make mistakes.” or “Failing is human. Just don’t stop trying.

And, you will have to agree with me upon this, that even if one makes one bad mistake, it should not disease one’s entire existance. We should learn from the mistakes of the past for they are the revelations of tomorrow.

I will list some bad choices I have made before:

  • Eaten sand
  • Go fishing without bringing anyone to actually kill the fish for me
  • Bully people twice my size
  • Believe people when they say that I fail
  • Not stand up for my views

And these I have learnt to never do again (OK, almost)! Then why should I have to follow through and suffer from having made the greatest mistake of my life?

I agree that I yet do not know what to do with my life, but at least I know what to not do with my life. Like eating sand or finishing nursing school.

I have realized, that I have only one life and I must treasure it. Everyone should treasure their own lives and not do things because it will make others happy.

Should I follow through with my nursing studies, and against all odds actually practice as a nurse, I will be the sadistic nurse you have all met and despise and fear. I will be the nurse who hates her life and her job and the entire world, and most of all you who needs her help. She does not want to help you, she wants to see your eyes bleed. Because she wishes she was someone else, just that she has not had the courage to follow her dream.

I am often too cocky for my own good and when I am not I have to learn to be. This world gives nothing for free (capitalistic as it is (it is sad really)) and in order to get something one has to fight for it.

For in the end, all that matters is that one is happy (and I who am fairy-tale poisoned actually believe in that!). For, when one is happy, everyone else around one is happy too.

You have to agree. Reading my depressed rants is not fun. You want to read happy journals, happy revelations, not cynical, sadistic ones. For, you all want to believe that the world is a blessed place and that we all should be happy. You believe this deep inside even if you are the cynical person I have decided not to be.

What is the point of a life lost?

Contemplate it, just for the sake of it. The question may be more worth than you realize.

So, please, contemplate the above words. And first and foremost, make sure that you never end up in a situation similar to mine.

And, even if Oscar Wilde once said that:
“We all live in gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

What he forgot to mention was that when the stars are clouded or have lost their appeal, then gutter is all we see.

I read in a journal that appeared on the Today page [on deviantART] that life is all about opening doors. I find that the deviant who authored those words is in a situation similar to mine.

The Deviant Rahll wrote in his journal that we all have two doors to choose from every time we have to make a choice. One can only pass through one door, which leads to a new room which in turn has two new doors.

I find myself trapped in such a room. I have two doors before me:

The one to my left leads to a life of nursing. It is the left door because the left cerebral hemisphere contains the logical and analytical functions, those which create problems for me.

The door to my right leads to a life of creativity. It is the right door because the right cerebral hemispere is the creative one.

When I search my heart for answers to which door I should choose, I find that it is the right door that I wish to pass through. That is where my passion lies. That, and it is the right door for me.

The problem with these two doors is however that I already have opened the left door of nursing. Beyound it I find myself in a financially secure future, but without happiness.

From beyound the right door I can hear my favourite song playing, muffled, because the door is closed.

Where My Heart Will Take Me– Vocal by Russell Watson, Lyrics by Diane Warren.

It´s been a long road, getting from there to here.
It´s been a long time, but my time is finally near.
And I can feel the change in the wind right now. Nothing´s in my way.
And they´re not gonna hold me down no more, no they´re not gonna hold me down.

Cause I´ve got faith of the heart.
I´m going where my heart will take me.
I´ve got faith to believe. I can do anything.
I´ve got strength of the soul. And no one´s gonna bend or break me.
I can reach any star. I´ve got faith, I´ve got faith, faith of the heart.

It´s been a long night. Trying to find my way.
Been through the darkness. Now I finally have my day.
And I will see my dream come alive at last. I will touch the sky.
And they´re not gonna hold me down no more, no they´re not gonna change my mind.

Cause I´ve got faith of the heart.
I´m going where my heart will take me.
I´ve got faith to believe. I can do anything.
I´ve got strength of the soul. And no one´s gonna bend or break me.
I can reach any star. I´ve got faith, faith of the heart.

I´ve known the wind so cold, and seen the darkest days.
But now the winds I feel, are only winds of change.
I´ve been through the fire and I´ve been through the rain.
But I´ll be fine.

Cause I´ve got faith of the heart.
I´m going where my heart will take me.
I´ve got faith to believe. I can do anything.
I´ve got strength of the soul. And no one´s gonna bend or break me.
I can reach any star. I´ve got faith.

I´ve got faith of the heart.
I´m going where my heart will take me.
I´ve got strength of the soul. And no one´s gonna bend or break me.
I can reach any star. I´ve got faith, I´ve got faith, faith of the heart.

It´s been a long road.

So, the question is why I do not do anything to get back on my feet.

It is because my left cerebral hemisphere is the dominant one, but it won the tug-o-war struggle to power by little more than an inch. My cerebral hemispheres are of equal strength. I am talented in many areas both within the sciences and the arts. Some would say that I as a result of that is less talented in the areas than those with clearly dominant hemispheres are, and I am prone to agree. That, as well as the fact that I have no idea which side right and left are.
Tell me to go to the right, and there is a 50% chance that I actually do that. Totally random in other words.

Because the left hemisphere is in power, for now, the right insists on struggling and questioning. It will not give up without a fight.

But, even if my whole being has made its decision, I find it to be hard to follow it through. I like to play it safe. That the left- and right door’s monthly salaries differ by $11’000 just makes my choice harder to make and follow through with.

And it is all due to the x in the equation of my life. The unkown.

See? This is what my left hemisphere makes me do! Write equations!

Problem 1: If I choose the left door, the Door of Nursing, I will continue my nursing studies for the upcoming 2½ years. After that, I have to work for one year before studying for my Master’s in Nursing, which will take 3 years to complete.

Age: 18 + 3 + 1+ 3 = 25

Offers: A finacially stable life and a boring job which I will dislike to the day I retire.

Conclusion: That I will be 25 years of age before I have even started living. This leaves me 5 years to find Mr. Right (who also can be entitled x). As I do not seek nor want to pursue a life in the country I happen to be born in, I have to seek a future abroad. And, because all princesses have to kiss many frogs to find their prince, 5 years is too little time. For, if I do not have children by 30, my life is lost. And no. Do not come and tell me that the unknown in the equation may stumble across my path somewhere along the way, because that is highly unlikely. And such elements are not considered in logical equations.

The conclusion to the 1st problem is then that while the problem presents a finacially stable future, it does not offer much else.

Problem 2: If I choose the right door, the Door of Creativity, I will drop out of nursing school. I will probably study languages at the University of Stockholm while finishing the two novels that lie within my head. I will also finish writing and illustrate the 4 children’s books that lie next to the novels. Having done this, I will then seek new challenges outside the realm of science, and I may quite possibly end up a goldsmith.

Age: Not defined as I may leave the country whenever I feel like it.

Offers: A creative and fulfilling life which offers many more opportunities for finding the unknown.

Conclusion: Choosing the right door will mean that I make the right choice. I will not have to worry about having time to spare, for I will have all the time in the world. To study a handicraft one can do both in a school setting as well as an apprentice. I will eventually come to choose the apprentice option. This, I can do both at home and abroad. Finally getting out among people, the unknown x may cross my path at any time.

The conlusion to the 2nd problem is then that even if the opinion does not offer any finacial stability, it may offer everything else I ask for.

The problem with this is, as already mentioned, that I just can not quit something I have started. If I ever do quit my nursing studies it will be proof of my right cerebral hemisphere’s strength, that it is a force my left hemisphere has ignored for too long and now has to take it into account.

But, everyone tells me that enduring the agony I have suffered for so long, is the right thing to do. And when people tell me that, then I become insecure, wondeirng if quitting nursing school then perhaps is a mistake after all.

I have however searched my heart for answers, and I have come up with an answer. The question is what should one do when one is too weak to manage closing the door one has already opened, and open a new one behind which the rain does not fall?