Honestly, I am here because I was automatically billed for another year’s subscription and then realized I haven’t written in over a year. So, I am here to make it worth it. Perhaps this will turn over a new leaf of actually keeping a consistent hobby. Doubtful.
Plus, it’s Quarantine season…which is a joke for me since I am an “essential worker”. So, I expect you to be hanging onto my every word.
I’ve recently had an outstanding revelation that we, as people, revel in the illusion of perfection. We are obsessed with people whose lives are apparently pristine, glamorous, and exciting. We are bombarded by inspirational stories intended to motivate us to achieve greatness. Oh, and of course, all of us have at least one friend who is annoyingly self-motivated and self-disciplined. “We love you, I promise. But you make us feel inadequate, so could you just tone it down a little? Thank you.” Our egos are built on the backs of others’ failures. What a juxtaposition. Inspire, we demand! Be relatable, we plead!
So, all that to say, I have a hard time sticking with things. Two years ago, I got pretty into guitar…for a couple months. In high school, I loved making collages. I used to take ballroom dance classes…a handful of times. I once drew a colored pencil portrait of my friend on a European road trip…and didn’t finish it. I’ve gone through phases of exercising religiously and then peter out. I once got a Polaroid camera for my birthday, used it constantly, and then forgot about it for four years.
And then there are truly tantalizing accomplishments that never make it past contemplation. I’m sure you’re dying to hear about them.
I’ve contemplated taking a camera with me everywhere and photographing people in my everyday life, strangers, that I found particularly intriguing to look at. Maybe I was going to create a blog and post small bios of them. Maybe the pictures would be in black and white…this was before I ever saw Humans of New York.
I’ve contemplated writing a book about my tragic, unrequited love story.
I’ve contemplated writing a movie script about a woman who was previously a drug addict, temporarily lost custody of her daughter, and then slowly rebuilt her life. It would traverse through the struggle of being caught between worlds and consequently, utter loneliness. A story of learning to lean into discomfort and trust in the flawed goodness of others. It would address systemic poverty and illuminate the non-linear path of American Success.
I’ve contemplated starting an ASMR YouTube channel. (I think I would be particularly good at it.)
I’ve contemplated starting a Podcast that discusses the gray areas of church, theology, and politics and intentionally engages people from opposite ends of the spectrum to demonstrate the power of discourse and empathy.
(This list is NOT comprehensive.)
I have too many ideas. Or so it feels. And I often hate the process. I hate barriers. I hate not being good at something right away. I hate that almost every hobby starts with money. I wish I could live a thousand lifetimes so that I could create many different versions of who I want to be and what I want to achieve. It’s not dissatisfaction, it’s that I have so many damn ideas. So, I usually don’t do anything.
I truly admire people who have a niche. A single focal point to which they are dedicated and master throughout their life. What a dream.
So, if you are reading this and find yourself discouraged by your lack of niche, your lack of follow-through, your lack of motivation, you are not alone. Know that at least one person is thankful that you are like that. Because you remind me that that is not what makes people worth being around.
Totally feel this – although, I think the older I get, the more I realize that even the people with the singular goals probably deal with similar internal struggles.
I think it all boils down to being temporal bodies housing eternity. It’s no wonder why we all feel stretched so thin to do so much with our endless numbered days. (To borrow a phrase from IRON & WINE)
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