I Lied

My failures have been shoveled into my face more than I’d like to admit lately. I feel stagnant and somehow like I have no time to stop moving. I keep thinking if I work harder, or longer, then I’ll earn the free time I crave. But ever since getting on this ride, I haven’t seen a way off or out. I'm getting ahead of myself though, let’s start at the beginning.

I wrote an article three years ago around this time of year titled “Why I'm Never Working a 9-5 Job Again.” Never? I thought as I typed the title, apprehension seeping in even then. Yet, the point wasn’t that I actually never worked a 9-5 again, but that I tried to live off my creative pursuits. At least that was how I rationalized it to myself.

“I'm putting it out into the universe that I'm not working any more jobs. Time is our only finite resource, and I can't allow myself to waste another second doing something I don't like.”

-Me, Why I'm Never Working a 9-5 Job Again

How magical. Though noble and still the end game for me- living off art long-term proved to be more difficult over the years. To start, I decided to finish my finance degree and move back to Oklahoma. While I was in school I slowed down on writing, and drawing waxed and waned with how sane I felt. I had built a routine and saw success when I was focused solely on my art. However, I’ve learned that if I have a singular goal, everything else falls by the waist side. I thought I was making a sacrifice that would give me a backup plan in case being an artist, like everyone tells me, didn’t work out.

So for two years I barely wrote, only drew when convenient, and just dedicated myself to school. In May of this year, I graduated, I walked the stage and shook hands with the president. I even have a picture holding my diploma in my cap and gown. It wasn’t until months later on a very unsavory phone call from my counselor (who made my schedule each semester per school policy) that I didn’t indeed graduate (I’m not bitter) and was a few credit hours short.

Now, by the time of this phone call, my life had already taken a severe swan dive. A relationship ended in a fiery blaze. The relationship ending was good- but let’s just say I incurred some expenses and had to replace some items including the iPad I created art on once in a blue moon. My car also bit the dust to a vicious pothole coming home one late night.

With my expenses doubled now that I was living alone it necessitated getting a job. Or rather- keeping a job because I had already started working a few months earlier, trying to stop a financial disaster preemptively. So while she drones on about how I didn’t graduate and that I could just take a CPR class and a class on picture taking I’d have my degree, all I could think about or feel was failure. My scholarships were on two-year timers and I was too broke now to even afford the two classes.

So I lied. The job isn’t a 9-5 but it’s grueling, time-consuming, life-consuming, and stress-inducing. It fits all the qualifications of what I didn’t want for myself. Despite my misery bills keep coming due, and the time available for creative pursuits continues to dwindle. I rely on motivational videos or sudden jolts of inspiration for motivation. I made some wrong choices, and some I was the victim of circumstance, but like three years ago, I’m craving a fresh start.

There is some freedom in having a purpose. Something clear to work towards. There is also some levity in the fact that I don’t have time to obsess over others' results. I’m lucky to get an article or drawing out, let alone worry about how much someone else is producing. This time it’s not so money or results focused.

If I rely on writing or illustrating to relieve me financially, you’ll be able to smell it on what I create and it’ll take away from what I’m trying to say. Which is, life is hard and it’s difficult to be consistent and hard to know what the right thing to do is. But if anything I’m saying feels familiar then you’re not alone. I don’t know if the changes will stick and if we’ll talk again soon, or if I’ll be gone for another year, crawling back to you again, defeated. Regardless, you’re not alone, and that’s the most I can offer until I figure out what the fuck I’m doing.

-RJ