Do you Know the Red Paper Clip man?

Have you heard of the, “Red Paperclip Man?” If not, have a squiz here, http://oneredpaperclip.blogspot.com/2005/07/about-one-red-paperclip.html

Kyle MacDonald sat at his desk, probably during one of those slow afternoons, where he would rather scratch out his own eyeballs for an excuse to go home and watch daytime TV - You know what I am talking about, that may be the reason you are reading this now? He examined one red paperclip sitting on his desk, next to his computer. During that particular session of hellish eyeball scratching, he found a muse in that single red paperclip. He would trade the paperclip, through a series of bigger and better trades, for a house.
One year on, fourteen trades later, some nifty publicity and quirky writing, he ended up with a house and will forever be known as, “the red paperclip man.”
That very essence of starting with nothing but a dream, (or paperclip) and achieving that dream, should encourage all who have wanted something that others have said is unattainable.
I am going to be a successful freelance journalist.
My ideas for adventurous exposés, whimsical bohemian writings and travel and lifestyle features and documentaries, were too dreamt up during those hellish eyeball-scratching afternoons in the office, where I would rather push my boss into the Yarra River and watch him grow a second head, than put on that robotic voice, soul-killing smile, and continue to follow the rat race.

However as soon as the skies blue up, with whiffs of amazing ideas of the truly charmed on the breeze. In blows the sneaky dark clouds and the doubts come flooding in waves, filling up my lungs… I am drowning in my own self-pity before I had even started towards my goal.

I am not pretty enough, strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, hard enough, loud enough. Je ne sais pas… I don’t know, I don’t have that special quality.
Just like that, I am struggling. Then all of a sudden I am so far away from shore and the sky has turned grey. I go under, suppressed by my personal sea of self doubt, pity and barrage of negative self talk. I go numb and slowly slip to the bottom, feeling the slow draining of each and every creative idea I have ever had, bleeding from my fingertips that are still reaching for the surface, the sky, the stars.

Then something strikes me. WHY NOT? Why can’t I do and be exactly what I want to? There is no reason; I am not unlike the next successful person. No reason I am different and I believe that to the very core of my heart.

I am studying travel journalism, via correspondence through the London School of Journalism. I am as pretty and as smart as the next woman. I am going to be a star.