There are plenty of times, I feel as if I’m not doing enough. Writing it down helps, but doesn’t solve much. It all just leads to more questions.
I know I can’t be the only one who struggles this way. The thought of completing something I’ve began since the rawest youth of adolescence, sends chills down my spine. Going through life, experiencing the exhaustion, pondering the ‘what ifs’, rationalizing the ‘should ofs’, betraying the present, and overlooking the future — it all leads to this moment: Can I still do this?
This isn’t a question in my mind about the ability to do, it’s a question about the want to do. I ask myself the same question everyday, either to drive myself insane or set a new course of action. Yet in even with a new course, I get drawn back to where I began.
In my mind, thousands of thoughts race through my head, weaving around the memories, the pain, the struggles, the frustration, and all the anguish I have carried with me up until now. What does it all mean?
Life is tougher than a nutshell, but is as fluid and easy going as water, yet as vast as all the oceans combined.
A true artist, even with a vision, deviates from the original, because through experience, he finds what he believes to be a better way of doing it, even though the initial intent was just as good or better.
People are what truly matter. Though with me, it’s far too complex. I don’t care about the amount of likes, views, and follows I can obtain on a daily basis. These are just numbers to provide for statistics, which doesn’t tell you anything but that. Numbers can’t tell you how a person reading it feels about it. Even with a ‘like’ doesn’t clearly give any inclination of their thoughts. Numbers can be surreal and generic. Just the thought of the overexposure sends me to an edge I’m not willing or ready to jump off from. Maybe it’s paranoia.
What honestly grabs my attention, is the comments people make. It allows me to truly feel how much you did like or dislike what you see and read, which in turn gives me the feedback I need to improve or disregard my work. With it, I can regain focus.
You can slough this off to the ramblings of a tortured soul, a writer in disarray. Maybe I’m making excuses not to finish my work. Or maybe this is a method to my madness for me to focus on the task at hand. Whatever this is, it is mine and that’s how it is. Is this how it’s meant to be?
For now, I can tell you this much: I do this because I was meant to, I do this because I was blessed with a gift from God, I do this for those of you reading this now, and I do this because it’s all I’ve been holding back and it’s about time I shared my passion.
We will meet again, I’m sure of it.
Thanks for reading.