Adventure in the great wide somewhere.
Public relations.
Each time that phrase slips from my mouth I feel a twinge of regret. The cold, stiff paper I fold between my ink fingers affirms my aversion to it. It would be false to say I’m majoring in something that I dislike; I adore reputation management. What I’m repelled by, however, is the idea everyone else has of it. Not to mention the suited-up and corporate image of me listeners concoct when I confess it.
Public Relations is not my passion. It will not be my career. It is merely a tool that I will use to paint my life dreams, whatever they may be. I fully acknowledge and accept the dangerous and ironic nature of my thought process. Happiness does not follow a protocol as society fools us into believing so. A little bird (Oprah) once told me that 80% of people hate their jobs. Society values money, thus, it pushes us to find a source of income rather than a source of contentment. But what good is money if each day you’re dreading the next?
I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell. I’d like to wake up in a bed of fresh lilacs one morning and in a bale of hay the next. Curiosity is my lifeblood. Giving is my addiction. The earth beneath my feet inches toward a new culture, a new experience. It feels the tug of my heart. The world wraps its arms around me and hums a sweet lullaby. I desire to be unknown. To speak in genuine prose, flaunting my release from society’s obligatory word vomit. Most importantly, I wish to cartwheel with the lambs of Ireland and muddy myself up just enough to see the twinkle in my eyes. A corporate suit is a sure sign I’ve let my dreams wither. Forever dirt, I’ll tell myself. Forever a wanderlust heart on earth.
