From the time I was little, I've wanted to be a hundred different things "when I [grew] up". My first documented dream job was "a planet", and after that it was "a firefighter, to help blow out fires". Needless to say, I've since set my goals a little lower, but they still seem so far out there that it scares me.
“She was terrified of everything, and terrified to show it.”
These days, it seems as if I am afraid of so much more than I was when I was young. My fears have morphed from getting lost in the grocery store to being able to afford groceries. From roller coasters (I almost fell out of one as a child) to a long, flat pathway with no ups or downs. From my dad being mad at me to my dad being disappointed in me. From not having enough time to do everything I wanted to not filling my potential. I do have one fear that has remained the same over the years, though. My parents' basement: when I was young, because of the monsters; now, because I worry I'll be down there until I'm 38.
a simpler time
Alright, I know I won't really be down there until I'm 38. But I do kind of worry that everything I want to do will fail and I'll end up being reliant on my parents for whatever reason at some point in my life. And logically, I know that's very unrealistic. But it still scares me, and I'm still going to tell myself that my fears are valid even if they seem silly. Because they're my biggest motivation right now.
Unfortunately, that can cause some problems. I think motivation should come from a positive place: a place of inspiration, passion, and joy. Right now for me, it's not. I think that's part of the reason I've felt so stuck over these past few months. Like I'm not in the right place. That's why I changed my major from film to writing. That's why I didn't do as well as I would've liked to on some of my projects over the past year. That's why I'm questioning every choice I've ever made right now. That't why I am asking myself these questions: Am I doing this because it is something I love, or because this is what everyone important to me has showed excitement and interest in me doing? Am I going to be able to do this long term? Am I truly passionate about this? And if so: what am I going to do with this degree?
These questions are hard for me to answer. I don't even really want to admit the true answer to myself. I'm scared to do so. But here goes: a little of both, probably not, sometimes, and I have no idea.
Here is a list of all the things I wanted to be growing up. Bolded are the things that I still have interest in.
Planet. Firefighter. Diva. Dancer. Actress. Singer. Teacher. Fashion Designer. Hairstylist. Photographer. Independent filmmaker. Therapist. Social worker. Tour manager. Production manager. Roadie. Travel writer. Blogger. Photojournalist. Music journalist. Musician. Nutritionist.
Now here is the question: how am I supposed to do all of this stuff in my life and still please my parents by getting a degree? What am I even supposed to get a degree in? Writing? Photography? Advertising? Business? Social work?
See my dilemma?
Since just before school ended, I've had a creative block. Maybe creative block isn't even the right word for it. I've had a deficiency of creativity. Absolutely no interest in anything that usually brings me such joy. I couldn't pick up my guitar, I couldn't draft a blog post. I couldn't do a watercolor or take my camera out for photos. I couldn't touch my piano or drums, I couldn't even write in my journal. I just had no desire to do anything. It's like I was drained of all my inspiration and creative urges by the end of my first year of college. I was so empty. So bland. And not even in a way that made me upset: really, I didn't feel much. I don't know what my deal has been the past month, but I really haven't felt much at all. I didn't get frustrated, didn't get excited, didn't feel overjoyed, angry, or sad. Everything was fine.
Then, June 30th rolled around. The day that I had been anticipating for months. It didn't even feel real until a few hours before when we were on our way to Chicago. I saw Kacey Musgraves and Harry Styles perform at the United Center. And it was like something woke me up. There is something so reviving to me about concerts. Being able to feel the bass vibrate through my chest... it's a feeling like no other. It was as if I was being pumped full of energy, new inspiration, and excitement. I left the show that night on cloud 9. I felt so good. And so inspired.
I came home that night and my mind raced. I'm surprised I was even able to sleep. The next morning I woke up and played guitar ALL DAY. My fingers were stinging and my back ached from my poor posture, but it didn't stop me. The following day I banged on the drums, trying to find where my old skills had hidden themselves away in my memory. And then I tried to write. I wanted to write a song. But for some reason, that's where I once again got stuck. Then I got frustrated. I got so discouraged. And I put the pen down.
Then today, I began thinking about going back to school in the fall. And let's just say that all those emotions that had been hidden behind a facade for the past month were unmasked. I cried for hours. I thought long and hard and came up with nothing. I finally was able to write though. My hand still hurts from how badly it cramped as I scrawled illegible sentences across the pages of my journal. Then I cried some more because I knew that no matter what I did, I would never be able to write like Harry, or like any of the artists that I'd seen and felt the same way with after their shows. I would never be anything like them.
This is what I struggle with, a lot. And how vain of me! How egocentric, how arrogant! Do I really think that the only way that I'll be able to feel fulfilled, accomplished, happy is to be as successful as one of the biggest names in music? No, not really. I've grown out of the desire to be known as myself. That desire has turned into one to have my work widely known. To inspire others. To make a difference in this huge, highly corrupt, absolutely unfair, screwed up, potential-ridden world. I'll let these old poems of mine better describe what I mean.
“If a man can bridge the gap between life and death, if he can live after he’s dead, then maybe he was a great man. Immortality is the only true success.”
“I think that my biggest fear at fifteen… is that I was gonna be some sort of like, failure, or, or stuck being invisible, um- and not making an impact and ya know [...] meeting somebody who you love more than anything else in the whole world and wanting to get married- I think a fifteen year old me would have never thought that possible, so, I think he’d be happy to know that it all works out in the end.”
Catching my drift? I feel like I need to do something that will be remembered. Today (as opposed to 2015 when these were written) I'm more focused on making something that will be remembered and that will evoke inspiration rather than BEING someone that does so. But the fears remain. I still frequently find myself doubting that I'll be able to achieve what I dream of. I worry that my existence will mean nothing. And I worry so much about fulfillment. About feeling good about my life in my last days. About having regrets.
To the right is a photo from my last photo project this past year. The project, titled "Latency", consisted of found photographs paired with a segment of text from Dr. Eric Berne's book What Do You Say After You Say Hello? This one, in particular, is the one that I resonate the most with. A combination of what I always pictured my life would be (9-5 in an office) juxtaposed with a statement that I hope I'll one day believe.
I wish I had some sort of positive way to close this post, but unfortunately, things just aren't feeling particularly positive for me right now. Today, I thought about how I would have been liked to be born as a fly. It would have been so much simpler. But here I am, a human, privledged enough to have been born in America and provided with a world of opportunity. I guess I'll just have to figure something out.