Hey there, it’s me. I know you hear from me all the time, and at this point I feel like one of those sticky kids who won’t stop poking the counselor…but, that’s me. I’m pretty much always desperate to reach you, and sometimes it’s really hard to.
You know those days when I’m not even sure if you can hear me; kind of like those times when you are speaking to a group of kids and you can see the words slide right over their heads. That’s how it feels sometimes, G-d.
I don’t speak useless words to you, G-d, not usually. Most of my conversations are hurried whispered prayers or a quick thank you for all you do for me. Maybe that’s why I never hear you- it’s always so rushed. I never have time to wait for an answer, I just have to run with the day and hope my words reached you.
G-d, I don’t really know what I’m doing.
I’m just a youngster, trying to find my place in this big wide world, trying to climb a ladder covered in grease.
Finding my niche in this world is like searching for a needle in a haystack- I know it’s there, but where?
I keep thinking I have it, I figured it out…and then I’m thrown three steps backwards, with a couple of real adults laughing away my long dreamed about future.
When I glance into the world of 9-5, suits and pay checks, I get what people call “the heebie jeebies.”
It’s all just so normal, so routine, so organized.
Is this my future?
Switching out school for a job that anyone can do?
I spent an hour in a TV station, observing and wondering at what went on around me. In an organized chaos, the media worked it’s magic.
Dreaming about being a journalist has earned me some laughs from others, but today I realized how very much I want it.
Taking information to the people, manipulating information into stories- G-d, is that how you feel every day? Transforming the non-understandable into something our tiny brains can fathom?
I want a piece of that magic, I want an audience to gain from the words I send out into the world, I want to make a difference.
The media is the source of everything, good and bad. It controls what people think of themselves and everyone around them, and I want to get in there. I want to be someone who get’s to help out with the good part.
I want to change the world, and I know that journalism can help me get there.
Don’t you think, G-d?
Why else would you give me such a fervent wish, if not for me to fulfill it?
People tell me to just do an easy office job, it makes the money, it gets the job done.
But I am young and so full of dreams, how can I settle for something less than You intended for me to have?
I don’t know why I bother You so often, and why these letters get longer each time, but I know that You are the only one who can read me perfectly. I want you to read me now. I want you to help me out, I want you to make it all clear to me. I know that is everyone one’s wish, but I am asking you nicely. Hand me a tool. Let others see what I see. That I can reach for the stars- and touch them too.