After yesterday’s tirade of nonsense I’ve returned with even more unjustified angst. Trying to be constantly positive and “love the struggle” is exhausting. I’m running out of steam and unfortunately I’ve barely made any headway.
When I began my quest to be a writer I was passionate about the practice of writing. I understood that it would be a long, hard journey with a high possibility of no reward. I accepted this truth and barreled forward in a naive (as I usually do) manner that has resulted in the unexpected emptiness I’ve felt the past few days.
I decided to level up my life thanks to a book by a similar name and since then I signed up for a marathon (no issues there, my training is going well so far), will try out for local production of The Elephant Man in early July, made a promise to a friend to climb Mt. Rainier next year (never climbed a mountain before), started to learn Russian, decided to learn piano, and of course my goal of making a living off writing. In an attempt to maybe gain an audience I came up with the idea to document my marathon training on a website called myfirstmarathon.com (don’t steal it I might still do it) which would also include starting up brand-spanking new Instagram and Twitter accounts (have I mentioned I deleted all my social media accounts in January and haven’t looked back since, until now.)
Overwhelming isn’ the word. Suffocating would be a better way to describe the way I feel when I look at the list of “accomplishments” I’m setting my sights on. It’s fear holding me back. I recognize that but it doesn’t make it any less breath-taking (not like a Maui sunset breath-taking.)
I get between 6-7 hours of sleep each night because I’m convinced the truly successful push themselves at all hours and will sleep when they’re dead. I quit smoking cannabis back in January, I haven’t drank in over a month, I no longer watch television unless I’m stress-watching (see stress-eating for the definition), and I have absolutely no social life. My wife and I barely spend our free time together anymore because I’m so “focused” and she, well she coined the phrase, “no worries, bro” (okay, she didn’t obviously but what I’m saying is she is the definition of laid back in all aspects of life.)
I’m an all or nothing kind of person. In my attempts to live the lifestyle of a minimalist over the past five years or so I’ve whittled away my possessions down to a checked bag worth of clothing and a large storage container of belongings. I still feel like I have more to get rid of.
I feel as if I don’t devote myself entirely to my goal I’m not committed and of course the deeper I’m in the quicker I’ll reach it. The inevitable always happens when I do this. I end up losing interest in everything including life itself. I become critical of everything. The smallest task becomes worthless of my time. Negativity runs amok. Maybe it’s because I haven’t done my morning meditation for the last four days.
I constantly second guess everything I do including the words that I’m currently typing (like this word this very moment, right now, now that word, and word that word too and even that.) My blog isn’t good enough. What’s my niche? What’s my brand? How do I market myself to reach the highest level of SEO?
Why are we commodities? I just want to be a writer.