Trapped By My Own Ambition

The clock struck 12 as the fireworks were released into the dark London sky. Despite being indoors because of London’s lockdown there was renewed hope in the air as 2020 came to a close. We made it.

Now before we continue, there’s something you should know about me. I’m obsessed with success.

While some binge watch Bridgerton I find myself binge watching motivational videos and articles with aggressive headlines like ’Here are the 12 secrets to success (that if you don’t incorporate into your own life you’ll be sad and alone forever!’).

Since moving to London (now a decade ago), my life is not what I imagined it would be. I’m still not best friends with Quentin Tarantino and can’t afford the fancy rock salt at the supermarket. Sure, my time here has been full of wonderful experiences but for the past few years that joy faded as I’ve felt trapped by my ambition to want to succeed. And who can blame me? Our society worships young geniuses and I’ve always been adamant I would be one of them.

I’ll be 29 this year and for the past two years I’ve felt this impending doom looming right around the corner. Feelings of inadequacy would join me for breakfast as my younger sister would share a voice note saying she’s getting promoted at work, the little gremlin of doubt would sit on my shoulder as I’d take to my desk in my windowless room to write my screenplay. Like a brand new airplane full of dreams to travel the world I felt haunted as I neared the end of the runway, afraid that I might never actually lift off. Soon I’d be too old to be featured on the Forbes 30 under 30 list.

What Is Success As An Artist?

It’s an interesting path; the one of the artist. Noble, until you realise you’re almost 30 and can’t afford a train ticket. So, it’s no surprise that around my age people start slowly dropping off. They come to their senses and realise living in an overpriced shoebox isn’t worth it. They realise they’d like to buy the ‘taste the difference’ brand at the supermarket and are sick of their father asking them 'So, when will you grow up and get a real job?' around the Christmas dinner table.

During lockdown, the prime minister in the UK suggested artists re-train and it’s a funny thing because who’s been keeping everyone sane during the trilogy of lockdowns we’ve experienced due to COVID? That’s right. We have. The artists. The souls who wear their heart on their sleeves. So I wonder, when will we stop belittling the artist? Sure we’re not curing cancer but we can make the person going through chemo feel a lot less shitty about the whole thing.

Now I know I sound like an activist here, #savethearts and all, but the honest truth is that for a long time I just wanted to be famous. Fuck art. Now this was mainly to prove everyone who never believed in me wrong - I also really want to wear ballgowns and red carpets seem to be the only place that’s acceptable. The bottom line is that I was desperately seeking external validation.

For the past two years I’ve set high goals. Because now was time to take my career seriously. I believed work was everything and turned down any social activity, because well, staying in was a sacrifice I needed to make in order to prove my dedication to my craft (that's what the youtube videos tell you anyway). Long story short, I’ve never been more unhappy and further away from not just my goal of being a respected artist but myself as a human being.

The 'AHA' Moment

As I drank my glass of Prosecco sitting in a living room in Hounslow, that small and quiet voice within me asked: ‘What does the opposite of what you’ve been doing look like?’

I took a breath in. It would mean I'd set no big ambitious goals. Instead I’d set theme words which became: adventure and joy.

The plan was to go to Cape Town; Escape the dreariness of London during COVID and exchange it for the sunshine in a city full of new possibilities.

But of course this is 2021 and we’re in the midst of a pandemic.

Instead I found myself looking for a flat around London - unexcited by the idea of staying here; The city that had worn me down and everything reminded me of my ex. I didn’t feel joyous and did not feel like I would be going on any kind of adventure.

Then my grandfather passed away.

Death has a funny way of putting things into perspective. The concept of time running out terrifies me but then I remember that I’m lucky enough to get to wake up and be alive on this planet at all. I remember that nothing matters and yet everything matters, but what matters most of all, is that we spend our time enjoying every second of it while pursuing something that excites us and ditching the rules so we can explore our own path.

My grandfather was a jolly man - flawed, as all humans are - but he created a beautiful life for himself and his family. I’ll remember him not for the ability to build a life from scratch as an immigrant after fleeing a war zone but for his humour. Achievement can be taken away from you at any second. Your power and status are fleeting while your personality and character are not. This is ever changing and evolving and where our ability to really impact others lies. Why is this not the primary focus of all our lives; to become beautiful humans.

Most of my life I’ve been looking for answers from the outside world and so I wondered what if adventure and joy meant that I were to venture inwards and truly master the joy of being myself?

This was my ‘aha’ moment.

So, dearest reader let me end on this; The biggest lesson I’ve learned is we live in a world where there are countless ‘experts’ telling you that their way is the way to succeed. But listening to your own instincts should trump anything anyone else says. It will free you. That is the one and only thing I know for sure.

As the brilliant Steven Pressfield says: “Our job in this life is not to shape ourselves into some ideal we imagine we ought to be, but to find out who we already are and become it.”

Well said sir. Well said.