When it feels right

by: MILA JARONIEC

When it feels right, you’re going to do it because you can’t not. You’re going to stop playing pretend and you’re going to throw yourself into it face first, or ass first, I don’t know what. And you won’t know when that’s going to be until it happens.

When it feels right it’s going to make you feel level, supported. Everything will stand still and make sense for a minute; suddenly you’ll have the last word in the irritating crossword puzzle. You’ll fill it in, stand back and acknowledge, and everything’s going to be right where you put it. And then everything will be clear.

Originally, you’re going to be doing something else. You’re going to be living out some other plan for your life with the best of intentions. This plan used to be Plan B but actually turned out to be Plan A because let’s be serious, the real Plan A wasn’t a plan to begin with; it was this nebulously attractive question mark inkblot that you weren’t sure how to even approach so you left it alone, left it in the “dreams” category and moved on. You’re not going to dig out the original Plan A until you feel so not alive you can’t breathe and start to panic.

People and their crazy romantic notions: “I’d be an artist if I could,” or “I’d travel if I could,” or “I’d do all these things if I had the time/money/motivation.” Everyone would do everything if they had the fundamental resources necessary. Yeah, maybe — you do have to be realistic. Be totally realistic for ten minutes without a break and take note of how you feel. That’s the crushing weight of limitations. But, the thing about limitations is there’s usually a way around them. Not becoming a ballerina because you don’t have legs is one thing. Not becoming a ballerina because you don’t have a tutu is something else entirely.

For example: recently I had an inspiring lady tell me about another inspiring lady, a French filmmaker (I can’t write her name because I don’t know how to spell it or what it even sounds like; sorry, I was drunk when she told me) who wanted to make films but didn’t have any money to spare for equipment. Since you can’t really make a film without equipment and taking out a loan wasn’t a viable option for her, she decided to attack her dream differently: she started writing, with the vague hope that someone someday would take interest in her work and translate it to film. And let her direct it.

And that actually f-cking happened.

If you really want something, you have to work with what you have.

When something feels right, even if it’s crazy it’s going to make the most sense. Everything else will feel like a lie, a weak approximation; you’ll feel like you’re placating yourself or whoever you think you have to please by doing it but deep down you’ll know what’s really going on. When it feels right it’s going to pull insistently, tug at your sleeve like an annoying five-year old, wave its arms until you look at it. It’s going to make you lose sleep but you won’t feel tired.

When it feels right, it’ll be tangible. The hazy “dream” state of it will evaporate and it will become a map, a strategy. You’ll get off your tiptoes and stop being afraid. You’ll do it because it’s in your blood.

And you won’t know when that will happen, or if it ever will; but when it feels right, you’ll know.