I don’t want to celebrate that it’s the end of the week. I don’t want to live for the weekend. I don’t want to hate Mondays. I want to celebrate every single day.
I want each day to be a mixture of work and pleasure. Personally, I’m not entirely sure that I believe in “Love What You Do and You’ll Never Have To Work a Day In Your Life.” I know it’s a popular saying, evoking imagery of a dream world in your head where you’re either writing that novel in a coffee shop, or mixing up a batch of the perfect cupcakes in your own little bakery in that darling city you’ve always wanted to live in.
But where’s the point in that looping fantasy where you are filling out your self assessment tax? Or stressing about that dip in income this month? Those parts of the job I’m sure somebody in the world does enjoy – but not everybody. There’s always going to be parts of your chosen profession that you aren’t going to love – and that’s okay.
Knowing that choosing to love what I do isn’t going to be all sunshine and roses all of the time, I have traded in what could of been an “impressive” career to chase after things I like to do, in a city that is completely alien to me (but thankfully not to my boyfriend, who has moved with me). Luckily for me I have a cheerleader next to me routing for me to keep chasing, and luckily for him, he gets the same in return. We can be the clichÈ of starving artists together.
There’s been ten thousand moments of uncertainty and self-doubt about our decision. How on Earth am I going to prove to the universe that I am good enough to get the things I want? The thoughts are fed upon by my depression beastie, like a Dementor sucking out my soul. It gorges on such negativity and spits out recycled esteem-crushing thoughts to weigh me back down again.
Magic isn’t truly magic in that it will not appear in front of my face, or land in my lap. “Good Things Come To Those Who Wait” is a phrase that doesn’t come to fruition as it is never a good plan to begin with. Everybody makes their own destiny, their own fate, their own magic. I’ll be working my ass off making my magic come true. Cinderella didn’t get her horse and carriage for nothing; she had plenty of hard work to endure before she earned her magic from the Fairy Godmother.
Making my magic is the first step to getting rid of the dread of Sunday evenings, the “I can’t believe it’s already over” on Monday, and the “Thank God” on Friday. When I make my magic I will feel successful in my own right. I will have lived to my own expectations and created the life that I wanted without waiting for somebody to give it to me on a plate.
Making your own magic outshines you from the rest of the Muggles on this Earth. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t seriously considered the awesomeness of being a bad-ass witch or wizard.
You just have to wave the wand – which will be much more hard work than just a swish and flick of the wrist. But it will be well worth it.