If I’m being honest, I’m tired. Really tired.
The above words pretty much explain my life for the past year.
Sending out resumes and portfolios and interviewing with jobs you know you probably won’t get…it takes a toll. Especially when bills and expenses are piling up.
I’ll be honest and say I never really saw myself in this place at 23 years of age. Coming out of college, I saw myself living in some Chicago or Nashville apartment with roommates and a steady social life, nothing too extravagant or flashy, but something I found a sense of contentment in. I saw myself in a job that I maybe didn’t love, but one where I felt like I was making progress, pushing myself towards something better. That’s what we’re all headed for right? Something better?
I’ve seen myself in a lot of different places, yet I only live in one. And here I am, sitting in my bedroom in my parents house. From time to time, I wonder what unordinary and otherwise forgettable string of events led me to such a place, this place. Every day I wake, there seems to be this weight against my chest, this pressing that I can’t seem to shake. My mind is a steady stream of unconscious thoughts that tell me everything I’m not and never will be…a good photographer…a good designer…a good friend…a good person. It doesn’t take too long before you begin to believe the voices inside your head, even if you’ve got a few other voices telling you they’re wrong.
And that’s where I am or have let myself be. Cut off, with only a few friends left in my corner of the ring. And I sit here, feeling beat to hell, knowing I won’t last another round in this place.
And that’s where I arrive at the point of all of this. While yes, I’ve been living in my parents house in a town I’d rather put behind me, I’ve also been taking up residence in this ol’ head of mine. Living inside your head, inside the bubble of your own fears and shortcomings is perhaps the most suffocating and unsatisfying way of existing. This isolation leads to bitterness, jealousy, resentment, anger, impatience, loneliness, over analytic thinking, and a host of other cold and dissatisfactory emotions and responses. We all have houses built out of fear. Some of us live in them longer than we should. The idea of stepping out seems even more terrifying. We are terrified of this world and the utter lack of control we have of it. And if you’ve ever composed a song, taken a photograph, drawn a picture, wrote a poem, built a piece of furniture, or created anything really…walking outside of that house and showing the world what you have is paralyzing to even consider.
And that’s where I’ve been. Living in this world of being so sure that I’m not good enough and never will be. Well friends, i’m here to tell you, I haven’t even taken a step outside the front door and until I do, I won’t know a thing about myself and neither will you.
So here’s to leaving this house and these fears behind.
*Also, I know penniless is spelled wrong. I did it on purpose because the “y” looked better and it was something different.