Ten years ago was my first year in university. I was a full-time student in French Literature. I dreamt of becoming a playwright.
That year, I met my idol, one of Quebec most famous playwriter’s Michel Tremblay. It was possibly one of the biggest high of my life.
My life back then was full of ups and downs, decisions blinded by debilitating anxiety and depression. A writing future seemed bleak, doomed to fail, fueled by a very rational entourage.
I changed my path to a more secure one, that would lend me a safe job with a pension plan and benefits.
Until about two years ago, I had totally forgot about this yearning to write, this dream that was so important back then. I still can’t explain it, but I can’t help but go back to it. Two years ago, when I hit the ground, pinned down by major depression and severe anxiety. Forced to take a break, reflect on myself, my goals, my dreams, my profond discomfort.
Today, I struggle between balancing my job, my dream, my mental state and daily life. I often fail. I don’t know if I will ever make it. Most time, I feel overwhelmed or guilty for things I do or don’t. I am still reflecting on the sense of life, the point of it all.
But today I saw a play celebrating the life and the immense work of my idol, who nearing his retirement, leaves behind a rich heritage all French Canadian can be proud of. That no matter where you come from, your family history and who you are, you can break the walls by being yourself and make your place in this world. That every story is worth being told. That success is not only a question of chance or talent, but also hard work and dedication.
Writing takes time. It takes patience. Starting is the harder. It is frightening. We all seek validation from our fellow writers and friends. At the end, we have to take the leap of faith, confront our fears and trust those who believe in us, primarily ourselves.
I will never be as great as Michel Tremblay, nor I will ever try to be. Having forgotten who I was, all this piece of myself, for so long is unforgivable to me. Time I will never back back. Drowning in the fog of anxiety and depression. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I hope I never lose sight of my dream, nor myself.