There might be a couple of reasons that have kept me from expressing myself lately. Maybe it was the fact that my operation and recovery took a bigger toll on me than I initially expected they would. This is possible, yet unlikely, since although I was very stressed, I don't think there could have been any long lasting effects due to the sensational recovery. (This is somewhat outdated, but still holds true at the end of the day.)
Maybe getting my degree and struggling to find work immediately put me in a bad mental state. I braced myself for circumstances similar to this, but I was hopeful that it was not necessary to do so. Managing my expectations has always been difficult for me and I grativate towards being hard on myself.
Maybe it was the fact that I saw one of my closest friends very vulnerable and realising my own helplessness. Seeing somebody that I have known my entire life open up about their own struggles and finding myself in that situation again. I have spend some time doing damage; knowingly and unknowingly. I have given myself the benefit of the doubt and I have doubted myself to an extreme extent.
It feels tough to be a writer, but to struggle with writing. To not have the words or even the willpower to try. These days become quiet and repetitive. With no music and no reading, I grow restless and become unlikable, foremost to myself. During such times it becomes easy to push others away and to get agitated. I tend to jump to conclusions.
Yet, somehow, someday, this uncomfortable period always comes to a natural close and I return to myself. It takes some discipline to let go off bad behaviour and cultivate healthier habits once again. Sometimes that takes a good look into the mirror or a hard one into a friend's eyes. No honest effort goes in vain, it is all part of the journey.
I have been wondering: have I, by labelling myself a writer, doomed myself through expectations? Are any of the platforms actually worth a damn (apart from connecting with likeminded fellows and friends)? Why do I have to go through the same cycles of doubt and confidence, of fear and bravery, when I know all along what it is that I am thinking about? In those quiet days, when I can't pick up a pen to save my life or type a paragraph or two, is it the expectation that is killing me? The idea of disappointing (an imagined) audience paralyses me sometimes that it makes me feel like abandoning my writing profiles. But there is really nothing else that I want to do. A sublime paradox.
Think of it in mythical terms: In the bible, God created the Leviathan. A gigantic beast that only God could compete with, just to battle. In the same sense, my inner narcissist feels about my writing. Even if I don't like to admit it, my thoughts when watching TV shows or listening to music is often something like: "Lyrically I probably could have done better." Naturally, in cheerful moments I develop ideas and have fascinating conversations about starting projects up until the point when doubt settles in. Inert laziness defeats the good cause and being a sentimental being, I tend to get distracted. Thus, I abandon my routines and it becomes difficult to carry such a menacing task on. Ever heard something like that before? I bet you have.
I want to think less of my writing, my thoughts and the creation. That might be the best way to overcome thoughts of expectation, of judgement (from my innermost critic). Somewhat recently, in a conversation a friend of mine mentioned his understanding of art and how it relates to working on oneself. It eludes me to capture his exact wording, but I've held on to his essence as good as I can: Only by challenging the definitions (and the understanding) can one progress in making art. Subscribing to century old ideas of art is detrimental to our process and only by constant challenge of ourselves can we, as artists, really create. By having a weak understanding of ourselves and our vision of art, we can only charge it with that. I take it this relates to confidence again.
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