I take solace in knowing 100% of artists, performers, writers, comedians, banjo players and hypnotists have been in the exact situation that I am in now. What sucks is knowing that every successful person has suffered in this sense, and that I am in no way out of that suffering. When I start to feel self-pity it leads to something like this, a somber self reflection and attempt at creative productivity. It’s really all the same stuff, now, with the rare exception that gets thrown out into the half-monster-half-internet portal for the world to view and judge and ignore. It’s a struggle, constantly shaming myself for missed opportunities while searching frantically for my bootstraps, with which I might pull myself up. It’s an expectation that feels like it comes from me, but is it really? It’s… my parents, no? Is there any such thing as truly intrinsic motivation, or have I been tricked into thinking a life of disciplined artistic endeavor is the one for me?
No, this has only been encouraged. There’s no point in time where either parent tried to push me towards comedy - just a true sense of purpose and passion. I think I found the right thing, but let’s be honest, it doesn’t feel that way all the time. It seems impossible to actually imagine a life for myself even a year from now. Living at home will do that to you, I suppose, but the workplace does me no favors either. Surrounded by regression, aggression, depression. Simple answers triumph over complex discussion, sounds familiar, no? Maybe our political landscape is the true root to my sporadic episodes of, well, sadness. It does me no favors to blame the powerful, overarching anxiety of this presidency, but I can’t bring myself to completely shut it out and focus on myself. That’s exactly what he wants. I have a true obligation to stay tuned, at the very least.
Maybe I need to volunteer or otherwise contribute to a political cause. Maybe that will lift this mysterious anchor from my proverbial ankle. The logistics of everyday life impede that, though, and right now I have a great opportunity at my fingertips - wasting that would be a painful regret no doubt. Maybe I need to start meditating again, yea, that’s worth a shot for sure. I am closing in on a great morning routine - but tuesdays have become a consistent disappointment in terms of health and productivity. I’m going to skip next monday’s tournaments and see how I feel. Man, what do I do?
This is hardly a letter of urgency, actually, it’s not a letter at all. Shit, maybe it is a letter. It looks like a letter. Nowadays I feel confident in myself and my work, in my progression and my future. The problem, I guess, is just inexperience. If I truly trust myself and the process, why do I feel anxiety now? Can I not place faith in my developing habits and semblance of talent? Can I bring myself to post this *~*truly*~* personal self reflection as opposed to producing a typical one - a truth-filtered concoction of boredom and caffeine. It would take guts, I give myself that.
There is value in these posts - both short and long term. That sentence is a lie, or at least the conviction behind it is. I have no idea if this post has any value at all, in any point in the future. It does have value in this exact moment, though. I have succeeded in curbing this weird, unorthodox, self-inflicted pain - at least temporarily. For the moment, I have absolutely no desire in slowing down or ending this post. I feel like I could go on forever. Maybe this is what I really needed, this exact thing right now is the most important thing in the universe.
You know, in a way I actually believe that. All we have is this moment, and all I have in this moment is a loud earful of Radiohead, dutifully drowning out the insane and indescribable distractions of my office, along with the words at my desk. --- Between that section and this sentence now, I was brought into a conversation with a coworker. It was pleasant, though, not the typical story of what goes on around here. I will never share that online, these stories are gifts so precious that I repeat them rarely, albeit powerfully, and only to close friends and family. If you are interested in some crazy office stories, I recommend you press me on how I’m liking my job. I promise it won’t disappoint.
I’ll be honest, this is really teetering on the edge of writings I post and do not post. Right now I’m not sure if these words will actually be read, a line I rarely cross, and for good reason. I don’t want my free writes to be subjected to the same scrutiny and inhibition as my deliberate attempts to open up to (Facebook) friends and family. Man, what the hell do I get myself into.
Screw it, I’ll post.
But I don’t want to stop, there’s a mild mania going on right now that I don’t want to quench - a result of my recent lack of expression. I’m going to pivot now, try to produce a piece of comedy and actually provide for the company that sponsored the last 45 minutes of my life. I hope to hide this forever from my coworkers, but, as with every piece of writing or content I put into the world, I know it’s a matter of time before it leaks out. Oh well.
Thank you for reading.
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