I feel I’ve been trying to use this blog for more deliberate writing. To write about a specific place, with a specific title. Yet when all the specifics are done, so is my content. Im writing now simply to write.
This blog renewed itself earlier this month. I feel im paying 40$ for a cool domain name, rather then because I need a space to express myself. It feels so backwards. Waiting for that eventual day where ill start writing now. A ‘random blog post’ feels abit senseless for me. Nothing to write home about. I really want to add value, and I feel uninspired, why would someone want to take time out of their day to witness another human vent, to engage in random free flow. What benefit does this have to you? How does it bring you closer to your dreams, your calling, your happiness. Is there some joy from witnessing someone as they truly are? Some unconditional appreciation? Who knows. I can feel the critic in me…Theres apart of me that needs to show up now. That has written an introduction, and doesn’t know what is going to follow.
Ive written before about the idea that most writers don’t start a journey if they don’t know where they are going. Yet creativity is like a vision of the emotions, rather then of sight. We don’t know where we are going. There is no roadmap. But there is impulse. An urging. How comforting it would feel to be in a box right now. Yet everytime I try to make one I don’t show up. I begrudge it, resist, and that ‘performance anxiety’ one could say drys my well of creativity. I have aspirations, covert ones id say. I say id like to write a book, collaborate and write a movie script, write lyrics to song. I feel so passive. So unengaged with my feelings. And well, self-conscious. That ill churn out anything good. I tend to compare myself to a select few inspiring authors/writers and tend to continually fall short. Then again, if every high school basketball player compared themselves to Lebron then there wouldn’t be much confidence would there. Im trying to reframe my source of confidence. Rather then comparison to success figures and idolization, instead to acts like this. Blindly, aimlessly, showing up. Seeing what will come from this. What returns from this.
Feel like in some ways I could talk so much. Maybe I should get back into blogging just for that. To vent. To talk about how ive been learning coding and whats that been like. About covid, Vancouver, travel, dreams, sitting too many hours, cooking. I could go on a tirade. It feels abit selfish. And honestly, im just fearful I need to be more then this to be read. To be worthwhile. I have an inadequacy reflection of myself when it comes to this. Perhaps that’s why most people don’t write/create – leave it to the big leagues, the ones who really give brilliant true content. Should I be hiding this writing? Doing it in private, until im ‘good enough’. Until that day. Should I be apprenticing myself. Doing projects, courses, improving. Maybe people want to see this side of me, or simply this side of progress. The pieces and places between A to B.
Apart of me wanted to just stop the writing there. Mic drop, as they say. Not much of a mic drop moment, but still. I suppose I feel im under the watchful eye. Ive been looking into copywriting. Lyric writing. Is this going to be peoples first impressions of me? Vulnerability posts? I want to hide that. To make this a journal, but I find if its not a blog post I wont write it. I wont show up. Im not showing up for my journals lately. Im doing morning pages, but besides that, ive become absent from the idea of a writer completely. In this moment, where ive had months of ‘free time’, I feel really confronted. Ok, so its not time. Its not free space. No matter how much time and free space I have, I may just beat around the bush. I need more accountability. More clear focus.
Im doing the Artist Way book right now. I can feel that once its done it would be worthwhile to embark on a strictly writing course. Where you come in with nothing and leave with a something. Where you get feedback, brainstorming. I guess right now im more focusing on becoming a better Adam first, before I become a better writer. Its a slower process, and doesn’t satisfy that immediate desire to ‘be there now’. Im not where I want to be, but in the long run this work is valuable. Self work. Patience. I think that’s the hardest concept in a time of urgency, speed, efficiency. It literally defies our modern philosophy. To trust that your building a future you. That you don’t need to be there today. That takes esteem. To be ok with not being that now. Self-acceptance. Patience is more of a medicine and practise then anything else. To truly have it, you would have to have other areas of your life maintained to support it authentically.
Classic Adam spiel. This that, blah blah, talk talk. Does come natural. I wish I could just get paid to have moments like this. Where I just free write, say whats on my mind and heart. See what comes up.
Ive been doing electrical work lately. I think how much work is involved. How much technicality and sweat and movement and lifting. And then I feel how can writing possibly compare. How can it be an equality. To work so hard and physically, meanwhile here I leisurely sit, quietly reflect, easily contemplate. It feels like comparing a stream to a tidal wave. Who knows. Maybe for others they NEED to be moving all the time. NEED to be lifting stuff. NEED to be out of the house. NEED to be not sitting for work. That gives me comfort if that is true. I just feel a guilt. A selfishness. Taking the easy way out while others are embracing reality and working hard. I can work hard on writing, but it just doesn’t feel the same. Mentally focused, but physically, just still.
Blank slate again. Now what to write about? Im in free flow mode. Seeing what pops up. Like a wack-a-mole, but opposite. Embrace a mole. Welcome a mole. House, feed, name a mole. Give the mole half an hour to voice itself.
Maybe this is healthy. To just get things off my chest. I don’t feel like im consciously doing so. I just feel I can funnel whatever I have on my subconscious during the week onto here. Ive had this one:
Why is electronic music being produced so much these days? My answer – most young people are living in shared houses. Its an easy form to play music, with headphones without disturbing others. Only an opinion, but ive wanted to share that for weeks!
Cant think of anything else. I think that’ll be my goal. Anytime a random idea comes up, start sharing it on my blog.
You know you could have been ‘X’ amount of pages deep into an amazing book by now, but your here with me. Maybe we don’t compare things like I think people do. If comparing wasn’t even a concept, a process the human mind could do, then what would be real? Other writers would be like distant ideas. Measured by a ruler completely different to the one I measure myself to. Crazy to think about. Where would that put me? What would I view myself like if comparisons didn’t exist in the world.
Id probably think I was self-aware, or more accurately tried to write introspectively. Some times humorous, creative, interesting. That’s great right? Would I compare myself to what I ‘could’ be. Yes maybe I am those, but am I those enough. Am I deep enough to swim in. Am I intoxicating, or sobering. Im loosing myself in my metaphors…
I guess I’m trying to say, who is the Adam who isn’t judged or compared too. It feels abit naked. Strangely enough. Vulnerable. But im not sure why. It feels like somethings missing, my cloak of invisibility. Is this Adam stepping into life? Im not sure. I think so…I can feel a desire for acceptance. For appreciation. For sacredness. I view this still as a pastime. A impassioned, spur of the moment, vent. A random vent as I named the title. I think I romanticize it being more. It being more special for people. More valuable. More important. Does that begin with you, or does that begin with me? Who chooses. You or I? Theres apart of me still astounded by this. I came into this with blinders on, invisible to what was coming. And here I am, 20 minutes later. Alive, with this foundation of words behind this one. Clearly something is at work here. None of this I intended to write. That’s pretty cool, profound in a way. To come to that. To come to nowhere? To arrive, here. I still want to hold onto that idea of how do I find the value and importance in this. It is a creative flow, something I am familiar of and something I can do fairly easily. In theory I could do that for along time. I wonder what would happen if someone just made a book of a creative flow. 150 pages of who knows what the * it will be. Just start and end. I resent that in a way, but it would be extremely informative. Its like spinning the globe and putting your finger on a city, and whichever place you put your finger on you go to. It feels that sporadic. That random.
As good as this topic is, a new flow is coming, so I will change subject.
I have what feels like endless, but what is really maybe 30 journals in my droor. Maybe 20. Anywho. Im unsure what to do with them. Ive thought burning them. Ive considered just trying to turn them into SOMETHING. Anything. Theres tales of my trips to Europe, of my farming, of my dating life, India, Nepal, psychedelics. The stories. Apart of me feels its worth telling, but I feel everyone has these stories. Right? Well many I know may, but im in a bubble and forgetting about all those that don’t. I think to myself well tell of my own story, does that really impact, better, your story? I feel im waiting for reassurance. That there is something there valuable. But maybe its like free flow. You create value rather then find it. Its not there, its created from it. Its the musician who can turn strings into music. Give a musician and a non-musician a guitar, you see the instrument is a small part of it. What one does with those things is the magic. Can I turn it into something? I wonder. Its tedious. SO freaking tedious. My writing on paper is so messy. Atrocious and emotional to read. Maybe that’s a good sign. Who knows. Im desperate for some authenticity. Some accomplishments and results. I feel im an empty resume.
Ok Adam you cant go on forever, what now? Its been awhile of free flow, is there an end in site? A transition? A conclusion? A soft landing? Whats the point…Learning to navigate without a point is a pretty crazy idea nowadays. In someways this is so meaningless, but in other ways its so meaningful. All I see are top this, best of that, you can be a this, learn from that. This is more artistic. Where are the lines? Where is the box? I feel pretty good about that. I just want validation that this is beneficial for people. It is beneficial for me. Is that enough. What if no one gets to this point. I feel like im on an empty mountain top and I can say whatever I want as loud as I want. I can just type abunch of profanity now, maybe no one would even notice. I feel like ive wandered from the village of logic, of thought. And im in the wilderness of the blank page. What creatures exist out here? What nature grows here? Have I burned my boat to this island long ago.*
Well, I suppose if I can go on forever, its best to just stop when I feel abit tired, which I think is now. I want to eat, or do something. To engage in a meaningless activity. To enjoy a game. I feel excitingly frivolous. Well, if you made it this far, heres a stamp. Or an award. But really, ill just say a thank you. Ive been talking about how ive been looking for appreciation, but sincerely, I actually feel appreciative of you.