Obscuring Rationality for the Sake of Me


We fight ourselves on every level. When a dream pops into our head it is so large we label it as farcical. When we allow ourselves to ponder the possibility, we then come up with excuses not to succeed.

I’m not good enough. 


Then we beat ourselves up for not believing, which causes us to become more lost to our dream. We settle for “the real world”, we let go of our helium-filled balloons.

It would have never worked.

We do well, we pay our bills, we get into relationships and settle down and everyone else relaxes, knowing that we are “normal”.

I’m being arrogant. 

Then that sigh, that wisp of a dream, passes by and settles on someone else. We hate that someone else, be they friend or foe or lover.

I could have been better.

We take solace in the comfort of our anonymity, and we slowly start to forget. Passion dies out, hobbies creep in. What should have been our “day job” becomes our life, what should have been our life is ignored, lost in insignificant stress, and we stop looking at the night sky because it has gone too far away.

I was young then.

We waste youth on retirement savings, middle age on disappointment, and then eventually in oldest age our lucidity is fleeting.

Wouldn’t that be nice…

———————————————————————————-

I have yet to strike a balance with artistic time, work, physical health, and unpacking. I enjoy everything I do, but I miss everything I don’t.

I fear failure. I fear potential. I fear nothing, and that in itself is frightening.

The twin of the notebook I gave away is sitting on my coffee table, pages untouched. I always have a problem starting–I think too much, I worry, and I rationalize myself into a standstill. Hilarious, since the quote on the front tells me to “dwell in possibility”. I suppose this makes sense, since quotes are meant to inspire us. Why would I choose that quote specifically if I did not have something to learn from it?

Well, this next year or so is going to be all about me “dwelling”.

I’ll have ups and downs and lulls and fires and giggles and tears and fatigue and depressions.

We artists are fickle things.

I am going to start wishing myself “break a leg” in the mornings when I get up.

I never feel more alive than when the spotlight is on me.

Sincerely,

Emilie

 

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