Fun Fact:
I’ve been holding my breath for 2 weeks.
It’s been two weeks since I last posted anything here. I told you that I would be posting everyday for 100 days, and I have messed this up. But that’s okay.
Even though I’m a Capricorn Ascending, I can deal with the lack of perfection. I’ll live if I scroll through my blog and see that the dates are not in beautiful symmetry.
But recently I had an experience that really had me doubting myself. I felt like a fraud. How could I call myself a writer if I wasn’t actually writing consistently?
Even though the definition of “writer” is a little fuzzy to begin with. I mean, we don’t call Thomas Jefferson a writer even though he was. So is it that writing is your main source of income? Is that what makes a writer a writer?
I don’t really think so. But I think everyone has different standards for what makes someone a writer. I think we can both agree that I am not a professional writer if simply because I couldn’t keep a promise.
And this internal dialogue had me working out exactly where my motives come from.
Am I trying to be famous? Or make money? Am just trying to share my message (what even is your message?) Am I just creating Art? Can we consider it art?
You should be validated by yourself.
That’s the end of the story. But why does your mere existence validate your creations?
We can assume that we aren’t supposed to validate harmful decisions. So is it the fact that art is supposed to add to the experience of the general public that makes it valid?
My art is valid as long as it contributes to society? If it brings someone some joy? But then the problem is, what if it’s so bad, that it’s actually detracting from someone’s experience? What if you are actually making someone worse off by your creation?
Is that a crime?
So you probably shouldn’t do it at all. Just don’t write, I’ve been telling myself.
But I realllly want to.
A couple of times over the past two weeks I’ve come back to my blog and scrolled through it like it was an ex-boyfriend on Facebook.
Longing to get back together. Still hurt over the break-up.
It was gross guys. Believe me.
And all the while, I had this internal dialogue on a loop as I was trying to figure out— what actually makes me tick? Because at this point, I’m thinking maybe it’s not writing.
You hear people say that in movies a lot. “I know what makes people tick.” The eyeliner smudged, motorcycle riding, don’t give a shit rebel says to another while sitting in a diner they’re about to rob. You know exactly what I’m talking about.
But what the hell makes people tick? What makes *me* tick? Please tell me.
This is another question plaguing me. Maybe it’s just the curse of all 20 somethings. Self-discovery.
The thing is, I thought I knew who I was. I thought I had a really good handle on who I was actually.
But now, I feel like I’m walking around life with dated info. Almost like clothes that I’ve grown out of, but I don’t know it yet.
I had a bike from when I was eight years old til I was about eleven or twelve. Now that doesn’t seem like a long time. But I remember my parents teasing me about getting a new bike. I was appalled. I loved my bike. It was comfortable, worn in, I knew exactly how much pressure to apply to swing around turns, and stop on a dime. I knew how fast I could speed down hills without wiping out. It was *my bike*.
But my knees also touched the handles.
I had grown out of it, but I didn’t notice exactly how uncomfortable it was to ride on until my dad pointed it out.
And then I *had* to get a new bike.
And it was stiff, and uncomfortable. Even scary because you don’t know how it rides yet. You might break too hard and end up ass over teakettle.
And that’s sort of what growing up is like.
You are at some point “ready” to move on. You never know what day it is. You know it’s coming, but just not when or how. And you have to assume these new traits, these new skills to cope with the newness of what you are forced to move forward with.
Am I being confusing?
I guess when I think of myself as a child and I see her. She is a completely different person than I am now. And then as a teen, as a young adult, and now I think I feel myself falling into a new age. And it’s the first time I don’t have a structure backing up my growth into this new person, like school.
And like this new chick and her problems are not exactly what I am used to. But the things she thinks about, what she worries about, how she copes with things is the same way I do things. Like— it’s still the same operating manual. And it is not sufficient.
You get me?
I feel like I’m ill equipped. And playing catch up. Like figuring out there’s a test today the minute your ass touches the seat.
Like, oh shit. It’s happening.
Panic, panic.
Okay, pull up all the info you have on this topic in your mental directory and run it over and over in your head until you must perform.
And that’s what being an adult is like.
So in order make these growing pains a little less painful, I have been doing a deep dive on me.
What am I good at?
What do I like?
How do I want to present myself to others?
What are my weaknesses?
And like honestly, I don’t know.
And I can see it now, this transition started about 3 years ago, I am just realizing it now. Like post graduation. I started panicking about *my purpose*.
Phew.. well that was some heavy stuff. I uh, actually wrote a lot more but I decided this was a good jumping off point.
I’ll dig more into what I discovered in the last 2 weeks about my personality and how that affected my writing journey in the next post!
TTFN!
-Alex
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