I find myself overthinking my passions to death. A fun pursuit has turned into an over-analyzed, nitpicked craze. The tone of my voice inside my head that dictates my writing has gone and I’m still waiting for it to come back. It must have not gotten the memo that vacations were canceled this year. What is it with man that we are so hell-bent on self-sabotage? Everything is going good until it’s not. I often find myself becoming a victim to the rules instead of a moderate obedient to them. Rules are there to be perceived and from there, acknowledged or ignored. It’s not true that rules are not meant to be broken. What about the rules that harm you?
Anyway, I’m so tired of writing. Part of this is because I’ve started writing as a career now and I’ve written myself to the ground. It’s like that song that you love and it’s your favorite song until you’ve heard it for the 164th time and now you want to take a flamethrower to your iPhone. It’s the same with everything else that you abuse, or overindulge. A restaurant is your favorite restaurant until you’ve been there 4 nights in the last week and now you have a sudden urge for home cooking.
How does one maintain consistency for the consistent aspects of their life? How do you continue to love your wife? Continue to consume the same food? Wear the same clothes? Perform at the same job?
Life tends to get so dull that even the walls around you begin yawning. Automation wasn’t mean for humans who inhale in emotions and vigor like they do air. You aren’t meant to live the same day twice, let alone 365 times. Repetition is the father of learning but it’s more like the drunk father that beats his children silly. Something about scheduling your desires doesn’t sit right with me. I rather travel than stay put. I rather be insane than mundane. I rather combust than self-destruct.
How many artists, painters, musicians, actors do you know versus how many accountants, marketers, analysts, and robots?
Isn’t stupid, almost criminal, to dumb down millions of years of Earth’s existence into a meaningless job performed in between a boring time bracket? What about the universe? It’s mysterious superstitions and extraterrestrial species? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to see what’s out there so that we can at least build towards purpose instead of towards consumerism? We can’t keep consuming forever. Resources are finite. No matter how big your appetite is, at some point you’re going to have to shut your mouth.
If we were invaded by Aliens today, they would arrive in the morning, and leave in the afternoon, with a look of disgust on their face, at how primitive we are. They’d opt-out of occupying us because of just how easy it would be for them. Such a task would be not be appealing to them because of how easy it would be for, with a snap of their alien finger, we’d be their subordinates. After all, we’ve been on this Earth for hundreds of centuries and what do we have to show for it? Another product or good that depreciates with use. Another tedious trend that expires with time.
We owe it to ourselves to cultivate an ambiance of brilliance. Our ambition and creativity weren’t always in a downward spiral. We did birth great creations and great things. But since then our creativity plateaued, our creations redundant, or ambitions bitter.
I’m writing now but I know I won’t be tomorrow. A passion dies once you stop watering it and start picking it out from the raw dirt. So if I wake up one day without the urge to write at least I’ll know in the time that I did spend writing I asked all the smart questions and received all the dumb answers.