The Inner Dialogue

I get trapped between the comfort of stability and the desire for the unexpected - something more scintillating than the minutia of day-to-day existence. It’s monotonous, tiring and dull. I hate my job. I feel fortunate to have it but hate that I’m a part of an industry that stalks people online and encourages more consumption. I’m trapped in cage of my own hand, built at increasing speed within the confines of quarantine. I’m privileged to find myself so bored and without eminent risk to my home, health and modern comforts. But I’m frustrated and unmotivated. I’m stuck.

Why don’t you change things up? Why not try that afternoon-tea catering idea you had? Or see if you can turn that empty parking lot featuring an abandoned motor-home from Breaking Bad into an outdoor bar / music venue for a socially distant oasis?

The end vision sounds so nice, doesn’t it? But permits and health codes and customer service sound mind-numbing. I’ll end up irritated again.

But it’s about the journey, not the destination . . . ?

This journey sounds like months camping out in the wilderness fighting rodents and mosquitos. I, along with every other working person in the world, would very much enjoy independent wealth. Then risks wouldn’t seem so . . . risky.

It sounds like you can’t be helped. You’re scared of leaps, but staying stationary is disengaging.

I just keep seeing any path I take ending in boredom. If I’m going to end up bored, why rock the boat? Why put myself through the stress?

Why do you clean the apartment every week? It’s just going to get dirty again.

It refreshes me. It’s a reset. It’s more enjoyable to live in my space. I don’t see your point.

Smart ass.

While it’s an imperfect analogy there is no straight line to contentedness. Aimlessness now will be countered with certainty later. The scales will tip in opposing directions regularly throughout life. It’s inevitable. You will be bored again. And you will have to un-bore yourself. It doesn’t have to be in your career, but you have to confront a new challenge. It’s apparently a component of being happy. An accomplished challenge releases those little endorphins we love so much.

Opioids do that too.

Very funny.

Honestly, I thought that’s what this would do - the writing. And it does, at times. But I’m finding myself more anxious and doubtful about it all. I feel I’m stepping into bounds that aren’t for me - that I’m not good enough to participate in.

The world is run by mediocrity. Those people just have gumption in spite of themselves. And here you remain, fearful of promoting your own thoughts and opinions. You see too clearly how little anyone has anything figured out and know how much you still have yet to learn. But that has paralyzed you with insecurities.

Remember that corporate event with the author who wrote a book on the keys to happiness that sold millions of copies? If happiness was so simple, this book would have worked. Millions of people would have turned their backs at the self-help section of the book stores and the world would now be filled with happy, healthy people. The audacity of this man to dilute happiness into six simple components was absurd. The components may be true in and of themselves, but strictly following them guarantees nothing in a world layered with complexities. Try sprinkling those nuggets of wisdom on someone enthralled in the depths of depression. If he can write and even succeed his nonsense, why can’t you write yours?

My hesitation will always be barred down by the potential of appearing incompetent. I know far too little. I fear that those I respect might find me mundane, inarticulate, or worst of all, not remotely funny. I don’t want to look thirsty for attention. I want to share, without sharing too much, to educate without preaching, to crack a joke without getting #canceled.

ahem.

Shut up. I see the irony of writing this to an audience. I’m trying to strike a balance between relatable vulnerability and hinged insanity.

Creative expression is a risk. Whether it’s done well or done poorly - anyone who attempts to share that is putting a piece of themselves on the line. You’re up for scrutiny, rejection, and failure. The other side, which you conveniently forget, is an opportunity to connect, clear your own thoughts, and have a positive impact.

But am I annoying? Or pathetic?!

YOU’RE ANNOYING ME. And yes, a bit pathetic. But we’re exploring here, and honestly, everyone has their moments.

Well, aren’t we benevolent?

Progress, not perfection, Tera.

Barf.

You’re the one that’s always saying that.

I stand by my barf.

People don’t start out at the top of their crafts. They start at the bottom. Maybe those with money start in the middle-top. If you’re going to live for another handful of decades, you have time to evolve. You have time to create and improve.

I just don’t know if it’s worth the commitment. How do you push past the stages of frustration or plateaus? Have you seen how many hobbies I pick up and drop?

Picking up and dropping hobbies is a part of who you are. Just because you don’t stick to them doesn’t mean they aren’t edifying. Just because you aren’t excelling at those hobbies doesn’t mean they aren’t worth perusing, even temporarily. This trap you’ve fallen into, thinking happiness is some rigorous creative expression of excellence is immobilizing. You want to bake bread but not start a bakery? You want to learn a language but never use it? You want to write about random shit every week? Then do it. You don’t know much about anything but you know a little about a lot. Jack of all trades, master of none. It’s only negating when you reject the experiences on a whole just because they don’t ‘become something’. Keep reading, keep writing, keep progressing, keep trying. There are so many ways to be wonderfully mediocre, and maybe by accepting that you can find more joy in the expressions of life you choose to pursue, whether temporary or permanent.

I’m rarely this encouraging. Is this really us?

Must be. I suppose if the constant beratement isn’t working then it’s worth trying something new, isn’t it? Granted, we’re still a whiney idiot.

I hate me, sometimes.

I hate me, too. But I love ya.

originally posted in my newsletter, theuneditedword.substack.com