Truthfully, I could not tell you what led me back to this blog. Perhaps the den of self-depreciation I’ve wallowed in for the past few months finally lost it’s allure. Oh, the irony of methodical thinking. Surely there must be some way to redirect my thoughts once I start to slide down the slippery slope into the introspective abyss? It’s not like the labyrinth is a fun place to be. Oh, on the contrary…
As of this very moment, I’ve decided to try this thing called not thinking so much and taking things at face value.
Hm, well, this feels foreign and weird and yucky (yucky?), but to Hell with it. I suppose I am finally ready to get out of my head and out of my own way. As homey and cozy as Hotel Self-Sabotage has been, I’m certain that I have overstayed my welcome and no one wants to be …that guy (or gal, for you social justice warriors out there).
I wish I could say there has been tremendous personal progress since last writing in this blog, but, unfortunately, nothing outlandish.
If anything, I became even more introspective and reclusive, which, granted, has been fantastic for my writing. There’s something special about the, “Writer-Recluse Archetype” – just look at J.D. Salinger, Emily Dickinson, Emily Bronte… For the record, I’m not comparing myself to these great talents. I’m more than aware that I’m just a would-be writer with a blog.
Anywho. This past September through April, I truly lived and breathed creative writing.
Nearly all of my genuine feelings of happiness stemmed from either:
1. Bleeding my heart and soul into my work or
2. From watching the poison leave my earthy body, drip by drip.
For months, I felt such zest and vigor for life that passion seemed to seep from my pores. Life had color again and all I wanted to do was to pick up a paintbrush and paint my own technicolor portrait.
- What is life without passion? Well, nothing other than a bland, colorless wasteland!
Unfortunately, I took this stupid ideology to heart and equated all things lacking passion with wasting time. Negative. Shallow. Beneath me.
For the past three months, I have watched myself from above and laughed at my own stupidity – whilst deeply enmeshed, trudging through it. Three months spent drowning in a tepid pool of self-perpetuated inertia. Truthfully, a prisoner of my own making. Ha! My psyche must have found comfort in pointing a finger and laughing at myself, as I simply can not imagine why else I’d let it go on for so long?
Well, for what it’s worth, there have been many positives amidst the madness. I’m reprogramming myself to focus on such sentiments. More often than not, I’ve seen myself in many of the people around me – the majority being those that I genuinely like and respect. This sparks something within me, although I can’t quite point my finger on what it is, but it makes me feel alive.
Connection and recognition of the soul in another is a beautiful thing.
Yet, I spend an inordinate amount of time dissecting my relationships and analyzing other people’s behavior. As always, I sought to make connections between seemingly unrelated things and figure out the root cause of others’ actions. At times I have been guilty of questioning others motives when unnecessary.
This has become a bad habit and it’s starting to hinder, rather than aid my growth. The more I infringe my personal ideologies and “quest for knowledge” on others, the more I realize I’m pushing people away.
Have I really become this self-absorbed?
Sadly, yes, but today – or tonight, rather – marks a new day. A new habit. A new perspective. A new life.
With writing this, I hold myself accountable and can only shift my mind state towards the positive, the real and the now.
Idealism and reclusivity – the writers life – may be fun and all, but it’s time I stop neglecting the other facets of my personality. At times I dislike that my personality is comprised of so many intricate layers, because it can get quite exhausting thinking about them… tending to them… nurturing them…. mastering them….
Time. What a gift.