Is there a way to determine the certainty and success of our decisions?
This is not another episode from the horrible movie that was my life. To be honest, this is worse. Tonight, I’m giving you behind-the-scene previews and an exclusive pass to see how every stupid act on this terrible movie was being made backstage (which some people took the liberty to refer to as the ‘mind’). Bring your lucky map because you’re in for a hellova freaking maze.
I hate how unfocused I can become. I hate how I can be so scared of what may happen if I do something or not. It’s so unfair that while everyone’s out there being great and the world’s out there adoring people who are great, here I am feeling so betrayed even though I know that the world doesn’t have to do with how I feel because this is about me. It’s all about me. It’s always about me.
One good (or worse, whatever) example is my I-do-not-think-I-can-call-this-my-dream-but-it-is-somewhat-something-somewhere-near-to-being-a-dream “work” in life: writing. I do. I really want to. I think if I would just seriously take this idea and go to school to study Creative Writing or Literature or something related, I would really really enjoy it. But then when I see someone doing something, this “dream” slips away from my mind, and I end up wanting to do something instead — Bill Gates talking about codes, band dudes being perfect because they’re in bands, etc.
Another dilemma is that I look at “writing” as my sanity-keeper. When I mess up on something, I will write. When I feel good about something, I try to write. When I stare out the window and see a good story inspiration, I want to write about it. But I can’t. I can’t write when I want to. It’s like my mind is so full of ideas that makes my head throb and my breathing shallow, but I don’t know how I would start the writing. I can’t even explain it right now! Someone feel me here?!
Moreover, I don’t want to spend all my life writing even though deep inside I really want to because of the simple fact that when I devote my time and effort and everything on something, I always end up ruining it. It’s like the more I focus on something, the more I fail and then I’d hate myself for doing it.
And seriously, what if one day I wake up and realize I can’t find inspiration to write anymore? What if one day I realize I’m no longer writing because I want to — and that I’m writing because I need to because I chose to do it as a “job”?
I don’t want to hate myself for writing. I can’t. 😦