It's 11:11 — touch something blue and make a wish!

That's something I've told myself to do as the clock has rounded to that position on the clock.

As long as I can remember, as soon as the looming numbers on the digital clock turned to the double-elevens, my eyes raced to find something blue. I would reach out faster than the blink of an eye, trying to fulfill my wish.

When I was little, I would wish for a Barbie Jeep or Nintendo, both toys my parents wouldn't even consider buying me, although I was yearning deep inside to be seated in my dream car -- the hot pink four-wheeler.

Then, in my pre-teen years, I wished for cuter clothes from expensive stores. These were stores my Mom wouldn't even let me in because I would throw a tantrum when she looked at me and said that horribly terrifying word — NO!

Eighth grade came along and all I wished for was a front of my body that was not as flat as my back . . . that wish came with time, I guess.

In high school, the Jeep wishes came again, except this time hot pink wasn't my top color choice and the wish included a CD player and power everything. The boyfriend wishes came into play then too.

College freshman wishes — oh, they were plenty. They began with miniscule wishes that I am sure many college students have. Things like, "I wish I can ace this exam," "I wish I would not have this butt that continues to grow," and "I wish my roommate and her boyfriend would not wake me up in the middle of the night with strange noises."

One day, I was sitting at the computer and I saw the numbers turn to my favorite superstition, I reached over and touched the blue chair next to me, and then, I stopped.

I looked at myself hanging off of my chair, clinging to the blue chair next to me and I wondered what I was doing. All of my life I have been sitting here and wishing it away.

In the time I spent wishing I had forgotten all that I already had and what I really should have been wishing.

Instead of a new pair of jeans, my wishes changed to include to a new style of living and thinking — one that was deeper and more worthwhile.

I began to look at my life and wonder what I could do to improve it and make a little more sense out of it. All the while, I was dealing with issues from my work that confused me.

I wished that victims of sexual assault and rape wouldn't be questioned on the stand about what he or she was wearing at the time of the incident. I began to wish that a person would think about the repercussions of ingesting a drug into their body before, so death would not follow that ingestion. There were also wishes for slower drivers and quicker responses to victims of crimes.

Also, I wished for more acknowledgement of homosexuals as people and less of their so-called "lifestyles." Doesn't everyone have a lifestyle?

I wished I could better understand the people different than myself, and wished that the person wouldn't have to worry whether or not their life was at stake because of their skin color and identity.

I realized, these wishes are just wishes and although hard to acknowledge, wishes usually do not come true. Sitting on my ever-growing butt and wishing away is not going to change anything.

I question how to be the fairy godmother and change my wishes into reality. Life isn't a fairy tale and I'm definitely not a fairy godmother, but I am a person with a strong sense of dissatisfaction with the world in which I live.

Although I have many goals, I've opened them up to a broader view.

Now, more than ever, I need to look at my life and grab a hold of it before it passes me by as it has in the past.

Now, I've got beyond wishing into acting. I question everything. Maybe it's the reporter in me coming out, the sense to find out every last detail. Or maybe, all those years of wishing that have shown me I need to catch up in my own life and realize life isn't a Disney movie. In order for me to actually be satisfied with my own life, I need to focus on the problems that everyone seems to overlook.

Maybe I need to quit staring at the stars and keep my eyes to what's going on around me. Astronomy is not my chosen field, and the hands of time continue to turn. Eleven-eleven always turns to eleven-twelve.