I go through strange stages of writing. Sometimes I feel that I only write when I’m really down, and then I get happy and stop writing. Other times I only seem to be able to write when I’m happy, and when I get sad the art seems alien and terrifying to me.
Perhaps it’s always the opposite mood of how I feel that I seem to be able to write best with. Well, this blog has been somewhat neglected lately, and I wish I could say it’s because I’m in a ‘only writing when I’m sad’ mood.
I’ve been struggling with myself lately. We’re at odds, myself and I. I feel so lost and directionless, I’ve lost my home, my job, and my friendships are wavering. Living on a couch in a party house for two months does not leave me feeling particularly creative, so my writing has come to a remarkable halt. I’m constantly drained and so anxious, the whole world feels overbearing and blinds my tired eyes. And so on.
I didn’t want this to be a place of empty whining, but I know these are just some hard times I’m going through, and they’re helping me to look inside and really reflect on how things have gotten here. For one, I’m happy to state that I know fully well every aspect of my unhappiness with my life at the moment falls squarely on myself. The hard truth is, I’ve been fucking around for too long, lost in a happy fog of relative comfort while riding on a cloud of intoxication thick enough to prevent introspection. The fact that I’ve needed to take responsibility for my directionless rut has been picking away at the back of my skull for quite some time, but instead of doing something about it it’s always been easier to drown it, deal with it later, and continue the self-destructive cycle of instant gratification. After all, I’m comfortable, I have a job that maintains my lifestyle, I have a home, what else do I need? Well, that worked for a few years, but that hole in my head just got bigger. So I tried to do something, to change my ways. And what happened? I ended up without a job, without a home, and an uninteresting burden on those closest to me.
All I’ve had to cling to is a dream of writing. Of writing great things that I’m proud of, that gives others joy. But the writing life scares me as much as doing something drastic, like moving away and starting again or taking a job that I might fail at.
And that’s the hard truth that I have to own up to and face. I’m so fucking afraid.
What the hell am I afraid of? I’m an intelligent guy with experiences spanning several countries under my belt. I’m likable, confident, eager to learn. At least, I thought I was these things. But as of late it’s becoming more and more apparent that when all the masks are peeled away, I’m just a scared guy with no idea how to properly live, instead of just exist. I want to build a great life, but I don’t know how to start. I’m afraid of taking the leaps, the risks necessary to change my world and lay the foundations of what I want my life to be. I’m afraid of change, and especially, I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of mistakes and confrontations, maybe even afraid of success (although never having a taste of it I don’t know for sure).
My constant second guessing and doubting and (occasional) fear and loathing of all things that combine to make the essence of 21st century living have left me so empty, so lost, so alone and so incapable of breaking free of these negative thought cycles. I know I need to rise up to the challenge of creating the me I really want to be. I know I have it in me, that greatness is just around the corner if I really, truly apply myself. But I’m so beaten down I don’t even know where to start.
The hard truth is, it’s time I stopped passively waiting for my perfect life to fall into my life, and it’s time I started really working hard at creating my perfect future. It’s time that past Curt worked in conjunction (instead of constantly warring) with present Curt to give future Curt a good shove in the right direction.
That’s what I got. The hard truth is, I is tired of being unhappy, and there’s only one person that can make I happy. So here’s to getting back on track, one small thing at a time.
And fuck Curt, stop neglecting your writing. If that’s what you’re truly passionate about, you’re a fool to not be doing it.
