Feelings of inadequacy and restlessness. I’m now able to sit in silence, a half-smile on my face, acknowledging my emotions and fully be in the moment. Not hope it would be better or less or anything else than exactly what it is. Searching inside for that thing that doesn’t really come naturally, the thing you actually have to search for.
Trying to connect with the higher self that does -more-, emphasis on trying. The Resistance isn’t messing around, it means business. I grab my choker a little too hard, try to come up with a metaphor. I choke on my own words.
The amount and sincerity of the people rooting for me used to make feel all warm inside. It still does, but now the blood rush and higher bpm caused by trying to find the thing they’d need to hear, so they can keep rooting for me, accounts for a considerable portion of that warmth.
There’s no void, but I’m trying to fill one nonetheless.
I wave at cops*, smile at strangers, walk-dance away from people I don’t like. On my terms, I’m doing much better than most. I’m not doing much, though.
How many hours a day for how many days do I need to fight The Resistance to make it out alive and well? To make it? Make the art not so hard? Make the art? Give my calling a call?
Written some time ago, when everything was pointing me in one direction** and I was trying to go the other way. It shows in my (incredibly cheesy, not good) writing and it showed in my everyday life. Listen to your gut. If you’re looking for a sign…
*Isn’t that the whitest thing you’ve ever heard?
**Imagine a time where hearing/seeing one direction written somewhere doesn’t immediately remind you of 1D. Now, stop imagining cuz that time will never come.