Sunday, March 27, 2011

I know it ain't easy giving up your heart.

If there was a time to write, tonight would be the time.

I cannot, cannot, CANNOT ever update this thing when I'm in school. If I attempted to count up the number of unfinished draft posts I've accumulated on this account this semester alone, I'd run out of fingers to do so with.

Each time, I sit down to write. Each time, I get a start; I see some sort of 'goal;' I feel some kind of emotion that begs to be tackled.

Each time, I give up. And why?: Because I tell myself it doesn't matter. The words don't come to me and I say to myself "It's all good. Just go to sleep instead. Just do your homework instead. Just stare at the wall instead. It's just your blog. It doesn't matter." Well, as I'm sure all we 'educated' folk know, NOTHING really "matters" at all - it's all about personal perspective. And that, my friends, is just relative anyway. Personal importance is relative. Personal significance is relative.

Personal progress is relative.

And mine, at some level, has been brought to a dead halt. I don't know what it is about being in school that just lays on the stress to a debilitating degree, but my ability to process stimulants in a productive manner goes out the window. What does this mean in relation to my little blog, here? Well, each time I've sat down, I do so with a certain topic or theme in mind; something's been on my mind for the day, or that week, or a matter of seconds - whatever - and I need to work it out. But as soon as I start, I get to root of the problem: frustration. Ultimately, I find myself in some predicament of frustration or depression about some aspect of my life that's going down the hole and I cannot bring myself to take it on.


This blog has been, ultimately, positive. When I was in Iowa City, my posts were expository reflections of my personal growth as an artist. When I was at American Players Theatre, my posts were about the joys of new surroundings and people. When I was home, my posts were about reconnecting with a part of myself that had been lost and, in doing so, finding my way back to my family.

The last few years have been a period of personal hardship, gratification, discovery, and risk-taking. I am trying to find a way into myself. I am trying to find a consistent sense of ownership in my work and in my thoughts as a human being. Writing about positive experiences in my life has helped me work toward that. Or, at least, I had thought it was. But now, at school, in an environment which has become in some ways monotonous - while in others still quite challenging - I am lost in critical introspection that I cannot seem to touch.

What I realized today while I was driving in circles by the lake after sunset was that its about time I began taking on that darker stuff. Yes, I must own my artistry - it is a positive part of myself. It is, perhaps, one of the most valued facets of myself (for me personally), and it is also what I am most afraid of. Ergo, I've attempted to stay positive and avoid dipping into the rants and self-destruction; the unabated insecurities that actually follow me every day, no matter where I go.

But this avoidance has done me a great disservice. Here I am, preparing to graduate, and what I've done for myself this year is build a protective barrier that's only paper thin - yes, I've encircled myself with a wall of meticulously crafted (and unbelievably fragile) self-worth, but, I'm still stuck in the middle of it with all this shit that bogs me down and stops me from actually, truly, really putting one foot in front of the other and saying goodbye to the crap and hello to something better.

If I expect to own anything about myself - my creativity, my compassion, humility, intellect, drive, WHATEVER - then I have to own the bad stuff, too. I have to acknowledge it. I cannot let 'frustration' turn me down side roads that only keep me from reaching the finish line.

Right? Something like that.