Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Well. Here I am sitting in a room full of brilliant minds and untold stories itching to be realised. The rain is pelting outside. The storm that’s been brewing has finally unleashed it’s turmoil upon Sydney. It’s kind of nice – being stuck on the second floor of a hip bistro listening to the torrential rain, writing. I’ve never done anything like this before. I can’t believe I’m actually here. I actually bit the bullet and went out of my comfort zone.
I feel kind of out of place, surrounded by men and women (mostly women) who have had amazing and established lives. There are those in the midst of motherhood, those that have retired, those that have quit their day job to pursue that little nibbling need to tell their stories but can’t seem to kick their butts into shape.
I’m well aware that I’m the youngest here. Like a little lamb starting to wander the big wide world, eager to soak up every ounce of inspiration. Trying to make sense of what the heck it is I’m doing with my life.
Is what I’m writing even good? Should I be more profound? I wonder what everyone else around me is writing about. Probably something that’ll change lives. And here I am, indulging in my stream of consciousness. My hand hurts from writing. I should have whipped out my MacBook to type this but I got too shy and self-conscious. I hate that sound that the Mac makes when I turn it on. It’s so loud and obnoxious.
I really need to stop being so hard on myself. I’m here, aren’t I? Despite my crippling anxiety, despite the fact that I would rather curl up into my bed and sleep the day away… I decided to be here. And just hearing all these amazing stories from people twice my age, I’ve started feeling a little burning sensation to go out there and kick ass.
You know something funny? I bought Catherine’s book before and she asked me what stamp I wanted on there. I asked her to surprise me.
I HOPE YOU DON’T DIE AND I HOPE YOU GET LAID.
I wonder if she could feel the depression oozing off me. I wonder if she saw the faint scars on my wrist… or maybe it was just a cosmic sign that there’s still something in me to give. I don’t know. Whatever it was, I’m grateful.