stranded at a car dealership.

Have you ever felt unsettled in life?

I’m not sure why, but some of my best creativity originates from the lobbies of car dealerships. In the time between oil changes, tire rotations, and unexpected recalls, I’m thinking. I write, I reflect, and I plan for the future.

Last time I waited on my beloved black Hyundai, I developed a storyboard with several scenes of a screenplay. I imagine how strange I looked, scribbling away in a miniature notebook with an ear to ear grin while most people read magazines or scroll endlessly on their phones.

Currently, I’m making future plans for my podcast entitled Sheer Creativity, where I interview creatives about their creative process. I love my podcast. I love the people that I’ve interviewed this far. Most of them are friends, and the rest of these creatives are new faces that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Since meeting all of my season one creatives, I’ve felt this burden to expound on this opportunity, to bring them the attention that they deserve and to invest in Black creativity.

As a creative myself, I often find myself analyzing and critiquing what makes me unique from the plethora of voices that already dominate the internet. I wonder whether I will receive the traction or fan base that other podcasts have, and whether I am a person that people will listen to. That thought manifests in other areas of my life as well.

I think to myself, “Do I even feel called to any of the dreams I have? Am I just a jack of all trades, but not a master of anything I’m truly passionate about?”

Anytime I have a quiet moment, I’m constantly thinking about the next adventure, or a new thing to discover some kind of connection to the life I’m living. Nothing ever seems to satisfy me, and I’m not sure what that means.

Here I am, 23 years old and working full time in a space that I don’t hate, and that’s an accomplishment for me. In 2022, I quit a total of four jobs. Some seasonal positions, and for a variety of different reasons. Unsustainable hours, low pay, and at times, incompetent workers.

Now I’m finally working where I’m respected, valued, and growing, and it doesn’t seem like enough. I always find myself searching for purpose or calling.

It’s not just a career-focused floating that I feel. It’s an every day life emotion, a consistent feeling that affects my creativity, my self-esteem, and my relationships.

My poetry book is called words from a wanderer, and that word describes me more than I’ll care to admit. I assume that what I call wandering, other people call half hazard living, which I can’t disagree with.

I’m often never fully committed. I often have to apologize for the amount of promises I make that I never keep. All the friendships I end without just cause. All the constants I quickly disconnect from. I struggle to understand what I desire out of life. I’m ever changing.

At least that’s what I’m supposed to say. I’m enduring a process of uprooting the weeds of cognitive distortions and planting positive self talk instead of calling myself a mess or “all over the place.”

As I write my goals for my podcast during a tire rotation, I remember writing is the only constant that my life allows me to keep. It’s the most frightening constant because it means always confronting and allowing people to see my thoughts as they morph into paragraphs. But it’s necessary.

I’ll continue to wander, and hopefully I’ll find my place to settle, somewhere that feels like home. So here’s to me figuring it out in the quiet moments, to writing thoughts about life that other people may have thought about too.

To finding a home for our creative spirits.