December 2014 is so far the most interesting month I’ve experienced my 22.5 years of life.

It began with the decision to officially move on from The Emporia Gazette as of New Year’s Eve. It was the best decision I have made (so far). Ever since I was in kindergarten, I thought being a writer was the coolest profession in the world. (Well, it might have tied with the construction industry. Cool hats.) I connected “Being a Writer” with composing fairy tales, probably by a fireplace while wearing a sweet Irish-cabby hat. Oh, and I would have a giant wolf-hybrid. That was very important.

However, writing is one of the few things no one encourages you to do professionally. Sure kid, you can be a ballerina, a fireman or an astronaut. But a writer? Not on the inspirational poster! Of course, that could be because most adults are not writers and never wanted to write post-ACT. And who can blame them? Sitting in an isolated room every day trying to invent things no one will publish for not much money does not sound as cool as ballet, or even teaching.

But I wanted to write. Because I wasn’t ready to put creative writing in my life-plan I majored in journalism, a close cousin. I learned plenty. If you have experience as a good journalist, you can observe, question, edit, and write short and fast. Write every day because it’s your job. Cut out the adjectives. In fact, cut out everything but the bare bones, plus maybe a hat and a scarf for color.

If I had stayed in Emporia, I would have become too comfortable to risk leaving. What a blessing to leave early, before the connections I made would become stronger and painful to sever. Comfort can be a fatal risk. I love comfort. I love Netflix, frozen food, my new heated mattress pad, playing Tetris, et al. But comfort has potential to transform into fear of losing stability, and that can’t always factor into important decisions. Especially when you have no responsibilities except not to starve, which is virtually impossible with a piggy bank of quarters and the option of Top Ramen. (Well I say that now…)

I trust my gut. It says I should do what I love, even if it’s illogical and risky. I’m young and untethered, and if things go really wrong, I’ll become a homeless puppeteer. (Hey, at least I have a plan Z!) It took a split-second to choose creative writing first, because it’s my first love and I know I can do it. Last night it took about six minutes to decide I’m applying for Master of Fine Arts programs inside and outside of Kansas, because nothing is keeping me here. Well my family is here, but who knows if they’ll be here in five years and they probably want me to Carpe Diem and all that stuff. The point is I’m 22, single, and just stupid enough, I have a plan, and I’m working hard.

(I am by no means expecting acceptance. Getting into an MFA creative writing program is like being accepted by Harvard Law.  But who knows? If not this year, I’ll try again. I’m learning plenty, and I’m happy with whatever the world has in store.

So here’s to the New Year! As always, I resolve to eat less sugar, be more present, do an hour of yoga each day and join a Tibetan monastery. (Just kidding. But I will eat less sugar so my foot doesn’t fall off, and I may join a gym or take pole-dancing classes. Pole-dancing is irrelevant to my life-plan.)

But above all, I challenge everyone to find one thing you want to do but aren’t doing … and to start doing.