O Confidence, Where For Art Thou?

This was actually written in June 2013, I noticed some typos I couldn’t stand and now the date is technically incorrect :s


Sometimes I wonder on days like today – an ordinary day where I feel content, yet tired, eventually feeling happy yet neutral towards any plans that could be made and then feeling this unnamed, yet familiar (been around many times, unfortunately) “thing” inside and yet somehow maybe metaphorically over my head might be more appropriate, that throws me into a state of melancholic pondering – “Am I really meant to carry out all or perhaps even any of my grandiose plans?”. Perhaps I’m meant to be like Richard Branson – coming up with brilliant things, bring them into reality and then let someone else take care of it, peek in from time to time to make sure it hasn’t been corrupted into something unrecognizable from what I meant it to be and then move onto the next thing of my fancy, all the while creating life-long financial security and having more than enough to do a great deal of charitable good in the world. Sounds perfectly ideal, actually. Haven’t a clue how I would do that though. What could I create, aside from The Artistic Mind Foundation (a working title and something I’ll elaborate upon another time), that could be passed onto another/others and be long-lasting? My greatest skills and/or natural inclinations are analytic and philosophical thinking, customer service, public relations and most anything art related. I know an empire that would exist for the world’s benefit/betterment could be created with my skill set, but how? And perhaps better yet, in what form or how many? I’ve never been good at mini-goal setting in order to achieve something greater. I know that’s what living a good life is. You do it constantly – accomplish this, that, and other things, all to be and achieve what you want in life – it’s what I do and most others for that matter. But how do I consciously make a proper business plan and what do I do it for?

As Ghandi said (I believe it was him), “Be the change you want to see in the world.” That’s what I want and try my best to do and typically feel quiet satisfied with how I am doing in regards to that; though I always want to be better tomorrow, than I am today, but that’s how things ought to be. Always progressing forward, even if at times it seems that you might be going back to something. It just means that there is something else you must learn from that type of situation and/or state of being, so that you can move forward wholly, completely. Perhaps forgiveness or self-acceptance, or perhaps it is Life’s way to allow you to “do it right this time”. A second chance. At 30-years-old, I feel no need for any “mulligans”. I am at peace with all the conscious and subconscious decisions that I have made up to now. This is something that I did not always feel, so it feels even more…peaceful…or something. I can’t really think of an appropriate adjective. It can bring me peace, just knowing that I have no regrets and feel that even my “mistakes”, weren’t mistakes at all, as I have learned from them all, the best that I could and they have all built me into who I am now. They have all led me to here and I love who and where I am in life right now. It’s not all perfect, nor am I, but I love and cherish it all. I think if I were perfect, I would no longer be “me”. No longer be “human”. I am not The Messiah, Savior of This World and I have too much to do as “me” in this life to want to even attempt to achieve perfection. Such a term is too subjective, a matter of perspective to actually even be hypothetically possible. All this and yet I always return, at some seemingly random point, to feeling “unsettled”, perhaps even slightly restless. Some would just call it “self-doubt”, but since I just used the word and find it “missing the mark”, I know it’s something more. “Unseen forces” set on derailing me? Probably a little bit, but that’s not the sum of the “thing” either. Due to the fact that I feel a bit less of a melancholic jumble and more “productively contemplative” (I like that. I’m keeping it), I think I knew part of the answer, or remedy rather, for a rather long time…I need to dump out my head on paper or pixelated screens more often. I used to write a lot; be it in a diary or some form of fiction (poetry or in The Castle) and have always missed it. Everything just up and poofed away from me a long time ago. I guess you could call it a, possibly nearly 5 year long Writer’s Block. Actually, clay/Guin came into my life and writing eventually got nudged out, to make adequate room, I suppose. Not to mention my beautiful Little Miss entered this world. Doesn’t really leave a whole lot of time to scribble, jot, or tippy-tap. Actually yes, I believe that’s been a substantially large piece of the puzzle – writing was always a part of me, a part that largely got left behind and therefore occasionally leaves me feeling aimless, perhaps even a little incomplete and therefore vulnerable, questioning so many things about my work.

Well, my parents and Lexi are back from there walk in the marsh (I changed my mind, deciding to stay behind and sort things out, which turned into this), so I guess that’ll be enough “head-dumping” for now.


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