Sometimes I get tired.
I wonder, who am I fooling? Does what I do really matter?
Like this blog, for example-- I'm still not convinced that anyone outside of my immediate family reads it anyway. Of course, like my proverbial friend the tree in the forest, I have to wonder if I am being heard. Because if not, do I even have a blog? Am I even writing?
Yes. I do. Yes. I am.
I realize I have to believe that... or I would NEVER get anything done.
Looking back over the past two and half years since I moved into the wonderful New York City (where everyone aspires to be, and I am so lucky... blah, blah, blah), I can't help but feel disappointed in myself with how little I've accomplished. Or rather, how little I've accomplished of my running list of goals and dreams.
On the precipice of everything and nothing.
That's where I stand. It is a comfortable friend; a space I know well.
I am in the land of great possibility and ample opportunity... not to mention I am apart of the tech savvy "can do" generation known as the millennials. So where is my stop? I must have missed my exit, taken the wrong train, or got off at the wrong bus terminal. It's the only explanation for the predicament in which I now find myself.
At first I thought the amount of excuses I made regularly was holding me back, but if I'm being honest with myself...
Sometimes I just don't feel like doing anything.
It sounds terrible to say out loud, and it feels even worse to write it.
When someone doesn't feel like working-- when they literally have to drag their broken down , beaten-by-life-carcass into work everyday-- it's safe to say that person should be in the market for a new job. But is anything safe to say when someone can't even get it together long enough to pursue their own passion projects?
It is a funny thing, what we call "work," and how it relates to what we call "pleasure."
When the two blend together into the seamless fabric of one's life, it is impossible to realize the difference between the two. It is impossible to function.
Take that, and combine it with the fact that everything and everyone is on social media. Everyday I feel like I'm being sucked further and further down into the rabbit hole of perfectly curated instagram posts where every girl manages to maintain model-gorgeous looks while leading lives of purpose and glamour.
After so many of those "perfect" posts, I instantly compare myself to a life I know nothing about, while wanting to grab a pint of ice cream and crawl into bed. How on earth do I compete with that? What do I have to contribute?
And then, of course, there is the execution of the so-called passion projects... particularly when they demand the support of others. The reality of the situation can appear daunting at best, crippling at worst.
So you take a break. You heal. You rediscover what the project first meant to you, and you redirect. You move on.
I move on.