On making decisions

I have spent the last two days at my creative writing class, delivering and recieving feedback on the written word. It's always a great time and going there really makes me remember why I choose to write and why I do it with a passion.

I get to read so many beautiful texts in these meetings, I get to hear so many stories and listen to others who's minds work in the same escapistic manner as mine does.

However, it is soon coming to its end with only one more meet-up to go. I am sad. I have really had a faboulous time there, and my writing and I have grown from it.
Telling the others in my class I wasnt planning on coming back this fall, but relocating myself to the Captial, they werent all happy. They sad they felt they needed me in the group and were sad they wouldnt have to chance to read my writing anymore. I said I really wanted to keep in touch with them and that I didnt think working on the novel would be same without them.

My teacher then said when having coffe, she: "Just couldnt have me leaving! And it would be tragic if I didnt use my gift in this and finished my work on the novel"
I said I had no plans on giving up writing and that really, I would keep on writing as well in the Capital.

Still, having them say all these things and seeing how much they appreciate me and my writing has turned things around a little. I have applied to a second year there in case I dont make it to the Capital. But I had only thought of that as my plan B.
What if I have been to hasty and escapistic (oh the irony of it all) in my yearning towards the Capital? I really dont know now.

Much as I have thought of an additonal year of writing class as plan B, I have thought of writing as a plan B of life. Even though I have been told since I was little that I ought to be writer I have never payed much attention to it. It was something other people thought I was destined to be, and I have never liked being told what to be by someone else than myself.
My writing has never been kept in high esteem by me. Dont get me wrong, I love writing and really it has been not only something I have enjoyed but also a mean of survival on so many levels. A way of finding myself and others and a way of learning and teaching. I just never thought of it as something I would do.
And I doubt that skill I apparently have, mostly cause I cant see whats special, if anything, with the way I write.

The only thing I enjoy and cherish with my writing and what I see as an achievment in it is the joy that it can bring to others. That why I trust my texts to the people I adore and admire, to my friends and lovers. To my "sisters" and "brothers" and those in need.
You're right, it would be lying if I said I didnt like getting praise. But mostly when it comes to my writing I cant understand why it's given. It's not that I am greedy and want you to praise me even more. It's the simple fact that I dont understand what I have done. I only wrote.

Reading this back it all seems pretty pretensious, hopefully you know me well enough to know it is not so. It's a sincere question and a very real problem. What shall I do with my future?

My teacher said I could well go do my thing in the Capital and come back up north once a month to take part in a new course they are making. Hopefully it can be done. But it's odd, I thought I had it all figured. What I wanted, how I wanted to pursue this writing buiesness and what could come and not come of it.
What if the, I dont want to be a writer actually is, I dont think I am good enought to become one?
I do wory alot, it's my vata-heart (google: ayurvedic body types and read about the vata, then you know me :) ) and perhaps I worry about this abit too much.
I'll write whatever I want to write, play whatever I want to play, and direct dito. Hopefully all three of them combined.
In the mean time, I am grateful beyond words, to the people who read me, watch me, critique and praise me. It's for you that I do all of this.

If you excuse me, I will need to write now.