I wanted it bad enough to quit college and become a student in the school of the hard knocks, graduating at the top of my class.

I wanted it bad enough to sell my poetry book titled, Hate Me Bitch!, from behind a bar where I hustled tips and mixed drinks.

I wanted it bad enough to sell my fiction books in 1,000 degree North Carolina heat to anyone that had eyeballs (and a twenty dollar bill).

I wanted it bad enough to break up with some friends (and even a few family members) who weighed me down with their disbelief and silent insecurities of being “left behind.”

I wanted it bad enough that I believed in myself by shining my own light as bright as I could on even the darkest days.

I wanted it bad enough to speak it before it ever existed.

I wanted it so bad that failure was not an option.

I wanted it bad enough that people conspired on my behalf to see that it was done. Because they believed in my vision just as hard as I did.

I wanted it so bad that I became my own cheerleader when the whole team picked up and left.

I wanted it bad enough to show my face to the world even when I’d been humiliated and betrayed. Because they couldn’t kill me. And I needed them to know that.

I wanted it bad enough to get back up again after I had fallen. And couldn’t get up.

I wanted it bad enough to pray. A million times a day. Even after I’d crept into the forbidden garden and eaten the apple.

I wanted it bad enough to forgive. And then let go.

My question to you is:

How bad do you want it?

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