I’m not that creative. I can be funny, but I don’t work well under pressure (sadly I don’t work at all without it). That is why, when people ask me why I don’t write a novel or create a TV show or something, I have to explain to them it would be a complete and utter failure. Listen, I’d love to create the next FRIENDS or Hitchhiker’s Guide but let’s be honest—it’s not gonna happen. I don’t have the talent, determination, or attention to complete such a task. Even if I could write something brilliant (I could), I’d be terrible at pitching the idea. I’d imagine it would go something like this:
Bigwig: Ok, let’s hear some of your ideas.
Me: Ok…during the Great Depression—
Bigwig: No.
Me: Secret agent sea puppies are—
Bigwig: No!
Me: The president…
Bigwig: …
Me: …of Nova Scotia—
Bigwig: No.
Me: Ok, okay. Picture this: Two years in the future—
Bigwig: You know, I think we’re good.
But I still feel like I’m supposed to do something bigger than…this; bigger than blogging or writing for a terrible sports website or putting sarcastic, slightly racist comments on YouTube videos. But I don’t know where to go from here…and that YouTube comment was a homograph for the sake of comedy and it’s your fault if you thought the racist thought.
I’m unproven beyond that, to others and myself. I’m just the guy with the blog on the internet that he checks while waiting for others to finish their talking part of the conversation. I realize that you have to work hard and try for the things you want, but I can’t figure out how to do that without putting any more energy into it. After I wake up, go to work, and come home and eat dinner, I don’t have the mental energy to be creative. Maybe if I didn’t have a job I would have the time/head space. Although then I would probably be stressing too much over trying to find WiFi while being homeless to be able to make anything anyway. It’s a double-edged sword, this life thing.
And it all comes down to money. It amazes me how much time I spend at my job working so that I can afford to have a place to sleep while I’m not working. Without money issues, we would all be free to do the things we love. What would you do if you didn’t have to worry about money? I would probably be doing the same thing I am now because, honestly, when it all comes down to it, finances are nothing but an excuse to hide the terrible fact that I don’t have a real answer to the question I just asked.
Shit.
It’s very easy for me to get used to being alone. I, most of the time, enjoy my solitude, but it’s amazing how easy it is to become used to company. Three days is all it took to break down my independence and make me feel lonely the instant I arrived home in my one-bedroom apartment.
The feeling won’t last long. I will soon be back to my hermit status that makes home so enticing , but I’m no longer sure if that is a good quality to be able to achieve. I’m already finding myself with nothing to do but sit on the couch after a long weekend of nonstop exertion. And the inertia of activity hits a painful stop against a hard wall of being alone and without plans.
nanalew:
I feel like the statement “No matter who you are, you’re beautiful!” only reinforces beauty as an ultimate goal. There’s no debating it has great intentions—it’s a wonderful thing to hear and a kind thing to say to someone. But as a person who has had very low points regarding my self image, I…
Sometimes you forget why you leave something. It becomes a feeling sort of like regret. When doubt fills your mind and your brain starts to do that thing where it only remembers the good things, it’s easy to think you made a wrong decision.
I get that feeling every once in a while about Missouri. I have some amazing friends there and lots of family and every once in a while I wonder why I left that all behind. I start to think to myself, “Maybe that’s where I belong, afterall.” But returning home often feels the same as running into an old ex. You may get that quick feeling of nastolgia and recognize those things that attracted you to them in the first place, but it usually doesn’t take very long before you realize that fire is gone, that that part of your life is in the past. And the past is sometimes an okay place to visit, but it makes for a terrible home.
Now, as I sit here in the aisle seat of row 20 looking back on the trip I just finished, it’s easy to remember why I left that place in the past. My life right now is about change and change is something that doesn’t tend to happen in a small town. Sure, I miss my family and those close friends whom I feel more comfortable around than anyone I’ve met in Vegas, but it’s the fact that they haven’t changed that makes them both so comforting and scary all at the same time. I can’t change into the person I want to be if I’m surrounded by that stalled-out life that fits them all so well. It’s easy to get comfortable when standing still, but I have to move; move forward.
The majority of the trip pulled that vail over my eyes and almost put me back into the trance of comfort, but a few small moments helped me realize it wouldn’t take very long before that ex-city would grow stale for me once again. Vegas may not be where I end up, but it’s the right path to wherever the future leads.
