The sound of failure calls my name; I've decided to hear it out

I fell asleep on the train last week. Instead of coasting safely to my home as I've normally done without incident, I missed it altogether and in my unconscious state commenced my albeit brief journeying into the dark heart of rural Auckland. Upon waking, I experienced some momentary panic born of disorientation and the slow dawning realization that once again, inattention has me screwed.

What this has to do with anything? I'm finding that at 28, I'm having to face some serious questions as to how life has found me here, single with no current prospects of dating (unless you count the dodgy dude from the Feelers who tried to feel me up at a gig last night); I'm living in Papakura (my semi rural hometown) and working in a job I detest; I'm without any so called qualifications; I've never travelled except to go to Australia and Samoa; and the one thing I really want to do (act/sing/perform), I'm too scared to tell anyone for fear it won't happen.

Not that I'm complaining - if anything, I am incredibly blessed,,, I have a roof over my head; my mother and sisters are safe; I have the opportunity to own my own home - heck I even have the best dog in the world... it's just that sometimes it feels like everyone is getting where they want to go sooooo much faster and I find myself, on occasion, consumed by such boiling rage and anxiety and helplessness and it's all I can do not to crash my car into a petrol tanker just so I can see it all burn.

Such ridiculous, debilitating fears I heed sometimes - horrendous fears that render me mute, dumb and blind to what good is right there in front of me. The irony being of course, that I am excellent at helping other people work through theirs but mine? Good luck with that. Example - despite having an IQ of over 160 and excelling in maths, science, english and the arts in school, I honestly don't consider myself smart enough and therefore haven't completed my ridiculously straightforward English degree; despite having a 4 octave vocal range that can sigh, lull, hiss, growl, belt and wail like a banshee or make grown men cry on queue and in key, I don't think I'm good enough to sing lead so I settle for being a backing singer, in a band where I tend to out sing everyone on the stage. Such ridiculous counsel I heed at times. If any of my friends came up to me with those particular skills and accompanying concerns I'd be the first to let them know how amazing they were and how they had a duty to their talent and intellect to pursue their hopes, dreams and aspirations. I think it's about time I became my own best friend