Sometimes I think my brain doesn’t like me very much. The murky swill up there, clouding the clarity of my thoughts, muddying my journey, hindering my path.
The demons have changed with time but then I question, have they really?
‘You’re such a good writer.’ ‘You should write a book.’ ‘What you need is a column, your stories are so funny, so heart-wrenching, so real.’ I hear it but perhaps I don’t believe it? Perhaps I’m too scared to commit to it for fear if I fail then what is there?
Oh don’t worry, there’s so much cognitive therapy in my history I can play that through to the end, know that if nothing came of it there would be other things. There would be more.
I just can’t shrug off the heavy heavy coat of ‘is this it?’
Human nature is so complicated isn’t it, how we constantly are moving forward – new breakthroughs in science and medicine and greater understanding of why we do and say what we do and say but there is no really explanation of why?
WHY are any of us doing this?Â EkingÂ out some day to day existence for what? Is this what it was all meant to be about? Holding down a job which if it ended tomorrow would be of no matter.
If I am such a good writer why does no-one with power (and money) notice? Maybe if I just put myself out there, just was a little less scared of making that call, sending that email.
Maybe I should worry about that less and actually do some fucking writing. Or even just plain writing. Fucking writing makes me a little skeevy to be honest.
Ah it is of little matter. Little consequence. It’s just the standard angst of a white woman with a life so rich she can not see if for the folly of what more there is just over that rise.
So what is this constant restlessness? This unshakeable dissatisfaction? What am I yearning for – recognition? reward? fame? Sometimes I think this must be it as why would I otherwise be so green-eyed when it comes to those around me?
But at the heart is a desire to make a difference. To shine a light on things not known or little shared and for people to walk away from my words a little lighter, or wiser, or entertained, empowered even. To make that connection with others and between others. To say we may be miles apart or just around the corner but living lives so different. Wanting to open eyes, wake people up. DO YOU KNOW? DO YOU?
Yet here I sit, feeling stuck, puttering along the highway, bunny-hopping and limping pathetically forward while everyone else is flying by in their Maserati, the wind in their hair and a case of fine champagne on the back seat.
Maybe this year I shall be brave.