Last night I fell down the Facebook hole. Sometimes it can’t be avoided. What I am calling “the Facebook hole” entails me either a.) feeling sorry for myself or b.) a little bit begrudging past acquaintances their successes (especially if the people didn’t really like me, cue a certain Smiths song here). This hasn’t happened in a long time – meaning I don’t typically fall into these negative mindsets very often where I’m doing a point-by-point comparison of my life to theirs (professionally, artistically, etc). But then I fall off the wagon and I don’t know why.
Yesterday it seemed more about me wishing I had more motivation and willpower. Wishing I felt compelled to create every day. Wishing I didn’t feel so lazy, unaccomplished, or undisciplined. Without routine, without clear vision. I wonder if I haven’t discovered my medium yet — the practice or tool that is going to feel so natural and intuitive to me that all uncertainty falls by the wayside. Then I become a creative machine. But as it stands, I can rattle off quite a list of things I’m fairly competent at, and I’m a master of none. Someone’s inspirational pin said “The work you do while you procrastinate is probably the work you should be doing for the rest of your life.” Can I even answer “what is the work I do while I procrastinate?”
- looking at pretty things
- half-writing poems
- talking to people
- looking around dumbfounded
How can I complete or commit or do justice to the many creative impulses I have on a daily basis?
What. Do. I. Need?
A coach? More sleep, more sex, more exercise? A religion, a practice, drugs? Hey, I can swing along, better than average, smarter than average, and get by just fine. But it isn’t exceptional. I want to be exceptional for myself.
I wish I could hurry up and know the people here around me who’d be jazzing me up, engaging me, challenging me, conversing with me. That kind of community exerts just the right kind of pressure on my psyche that keeps me going and focused on the ideas I’m working on bringing into the world. (read: the consummate extrovert). I think I might love Los Angeles. I love feeling overwhelmed by Los Angeles. Overwhelmed in the way that one couldn’t possibly know all the richness and depth of the people and ideas being traded within a particular geographic area. You step into that river – anywhere in the city- and the current hits you. And there’s way too much to ever feel bad about missing any of it. LA is like one infinite (and very sunny) choose your own adventure book that is just waiting for you to reread and reread it. And it time it just keeps getting better: the laughter, the billboards, the people watching, the unicorns shitting rainbows over Santa Monica pier.