“It’s sometime between 9am and 5pm and I’m suffering again.”
Who did this to me? Where are you so I can blame you. Am I meant to externalize my pain and suffering or keep is within me. Here I am. It’s sometime between 9am and 5pm and I’m suffering again. But that’s fine. That’s good. That’s the way it’s meant to be. Or is it?
How many people are working a day job suffering like this?
How normal is it?
And if it’s normal, is it acceptable?
Or, should I open up my time frame a bit and look back 30 years. What was work like then? Is that relevant?
If I were alive 1000 years ago—should I compare the working and life conditions of a labourer then to my life today?
Should I look at the decisions that lead me to the situation?
Childhood traumas or unresolved foibles.
The thing is… that…
It couldn’t have been any different than it was.
This looking at what other people are doing and comparing my life to theirs, or my output to theirs. Enjoying their creative endeavours and craving something of that which could come from me if I had the time or space to put in the effort to get there and then to enjoy others enjoying my art. Yes, that’s the pain point that’s sticking with me right now. But what does that really mean, and what is the solution? Wallowing is obviously not the solution, but wallowing could be part of the solution. It could be the percolation of about-to-take-actionness.
That’s where I am right now. The elastic is taut and energy consolidated. But another push forward is great, but after enough of these pushes I know that I’ll end up in this liminal space again.
Sitting and wallowing and comparing myself to the idols of my own personal sphere and making.
The vulnerability muscle of launching something is not yet primed nor practiced.
Forward is slow and laborious. It’s so slow it’s stagnant.
No human being has the time horizon for this.
But it’s much quicker for me to consume flicks of inspiration dotted around the internet and shared that way thus reinforcing my wallowedness.
At what point does it become pathetic and weak enough past the point of me recognizing that I am not that weak of a person. That I have the wherewithal to trudge. That I can start to contribute and I should just start to publish and release and acknowledge that if every single product of my output is a “miserable failure” (googlebomb reference) then that is GOOD. Because it means I HAD OUTPUT. FAILURE MEANS PROGRESS MEANS ACTION MEANS EFFORT.
We measure ourselves based on our effort. That is my worth. My worth isn’t in someone’s ephemeral distaste for whatever I’ve done. My worth isn’t qualified by anyone else. Progress. Taking action. That sustains.
So publish, walk the walk, and fail. Make lots and lots of failures cause the record book will show that this person lived a life, they strove, they were alive. They made effort.
They started off too hard imagining a nebulous output that wasn’t going to be good enough. But every piece of output is a win no matter what it looks like. This article is a win. That email is a win. That bumble, this goof, that gaff. “Whoops. Utterly and completely failed and fucked it all up.” Cool. So?
What’s the next thing you’re going to work on?
-carc
