It's the First Snow--So, Let It Go

Over the past several months, something has turned over in me. I don't know exactly what it was that happened, but it has led to letting go of most (not all!) bad, cyclical habits as well as releasing myself from societal expectations that have no meaning to me. It has led to me being complacent and peaceful and wrinkling my nose at "hustle" culture. It no longer makes sense to be miserable now to believe it will lead to happiness later. It no longer makes sense to beat myself up because the things I enjoy doing are not marketable, lucrative, or recognized. It's absolutely okay to be an average woman enjoying what she loves for the sake of that enjoyment.

In the past, I have described my creative anxiety in many ways. I have compared it to being a dried-up aquifer, nothing bubbling out from the bedrock of me. I have compared it to reaching out my hands only to realize that my hands aren't there. I have compared it to a dead bird's beak fixed open in mortis.

It's a not going anywhere.

It's a nothing to show.

It's an I've got nothin'.

But all those above statements were false all along. I just wasn't going anywhere, showing anything, or giving anything to an audience. The times we live in now are incredibly audience-driven, be it the audience in your mind or a literal audience for which you curate your life for a hopefully desirable response. But the audience is incredibly heavy. Quite the drug. Quite the influencer and quite the destroyer.

This is not to say that I no longer have ambition. I do want to expel my creative energy into the things I love: writing, art, reading, philosophy, living, loving, traveling, nature, exploring. All are forms of praise for this one life I have.