Many days, it seems like I just barely outrun hopelessness. Like I’m just one step ahead of the paralyzing threat of insignificance, buying myself a little more time to keep my relevancy afloat.
It’s a shitty feeling. Almost claustrophobic. Like there’s a monster in my room just waiting for me to stumble, and I can feel its hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. Blech.
On days like these, I invoke the words of my mentor, who taught me that mattering is a choice. That meaning is made, not found. And that every creator has to settle down into their own tolerable undercurrent of anxiety. Otherwise they’ll spend all their time managing worry instead of making art.
And so, instead of peering over my shoulder to see if the monster is gaining on me, I keep moving my fingers forward. I write myself into the right mind. Because I know it’s impossible to feel sorry for myself when I’m creating something new. That the more I create, the better I feel.
Then, once I start making progress, I give myself permission to feel good about completing something, no matter how insignificant it may be. Because that feeling of positivity brings its own energy and momentum that I can use to advance to the next goal.
Call it self congratulatory, but the reality is, when you’re the sole employee, you do whatever it takes to deliver yourself from meaninglessness.
LET ME ASK YA THIS…
What hopelessness do you just barely outrun each day?
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That Guy with the Nametag
Author. Speaker. Strategist. Filmmaker. Publisher. Songwriter.
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