contemplating my madeleine

I'm reading a book right now about how to write good college essays as I prepare to apply to grad schools. It has a list to help you prepare to write a personal statement essay and some of the topics to get you thinking are "Describe 3 Significant Lessons You Have Learned," "Describe 3 Memorable Experiences You've Had," "Discuss a Failure That Taught You Something." As I'm reading over these starter topics I peruse my memory for relevant events and then start to wonder, should I use my move to New York as having to do with a Significant Lesson, or a Failure that Taught Me Something. Do I discuss the experience of traveling to Cuba and Kenya? My Internship at Tribeca as an Experience, and my film career as a Failure? Then, after thinking of these past experiences for a moment I get a little sad. Sad because some of this stuff was exciting, challenging things that I have moved past but feel sad that I didn't stick with. While working as a PA and interning at Tribeca I started to realize that film might not be the career I want to stay in. I started to miss the academic environment, where my ideas were welcomed and my assumptions challenged. I missed feeling like I had something to offer, and that I was learning something that made me grow as a creative person. I realized I didn't want to stop learning about and discussing literature yet. And that the world of film, although I love the cinema, and love the stories it tells, might not be the best place for a dreamer like me. I wanted to inspire others to love literature, and I wanted to write stories that had a chance of being read somewhere, not just by an intern in a production house that will write a snarky film student critique and stop my film from being made. Usually I don't regret walking away from the endless amount of work I forsaw. I wanted to be a creative, and I wanted to stay fresh. I didn't want to stagnant. I don't want to stagnant. For a while I oscillated between wanting to be in that world and being a normal person in education somewhere. Finally the desire to teach and continue learning won out. I don't really regret it. But I do sort of wonder what could have happened if I had pushed forth. And if I had stayed in New York. In the back of my head, as I sit in an office editing military briefs that I don't care less about and worry about the money slowing being deposited in my account, and fret about my grad class and the chances of getting into grad school I wonder if I've given up excitement. Or at least for now. It seems harder to come by when you're living in your mother's house in Reston, commuting down to Arlington and not doing much else. I don't think I've given it up in exchange for a paycheck and the chance to sit at a desk. But sometimes I'm afraid I have and that I'm too meek to find my own life, find my own adventures and that they have, or will pass me by before I realize it.