Sometimes I feel like I’m a big disappointment. To whom? Not to people who have never believed in me, I guess, because my failure would simply be a product of some wrong path taken according to their expectations.
I certainly haven’t failed as a human being—I have a job I don’t hate (although it is somewhat excruciating), friends I meet often, there’s even someone who thinks about me on a regular basis and with whom physical proximity is more than desirable. So I’m doing ok. The problem is… exactly that: I’m just doing ok. Days go by and I can account for nothing but the work I’ve completed. I guess I should do more than that but I don’t know what more stands for.
Life was much more interesting before. Simpler. More passion-driven. Maybe I’m just mourning my lack of attention, nothing that a simple change of habits won’t fix, but there certainly was something in my 14-year old heart that is no longer there. I feel like it’s cloudy inside here. I need some clarity. I need the ability to focus on the things I really like. I need to feel less morose and remember what pulls me close to my sketchbook. Oh, excuses, excuses, I do remember what drives me toward my ink and paper—not overthinking.
At least I’m reading a book and I’m hating it, but that’s ok. Diving into another world for a while (even if it’s boring) feels like something’s getting done. Now it’s just a matter of not second-guessing myself anymore. But haven’t I been saying this forever?
Who cares, as long as I keep trying.