Dear Future Self,
I feel free for one of the first times in my life. Free to be the self that I truly desired to be. That's not what I expected to get out of intense chiropractic care and a baby. I finally feel as if I am embracing who I am deep down; who I have always been. And that wasn't a doctor.
That whole character was built upon trauma and everything that had happened to her -- not on the foundation of my own breath and the value therein.
I quit grad school.
I don't long for the credibility that will never come. I once believed that after I achieved some milestone, it would in turn give me the kind of identity I wanted. I guess to show off around town because trying to see myself as a doctor in the mirror felt cooler looking in than peaking out. I finally whispered to my reflection, "this isn't it."
Some people are built to be in medicine.
Some people are born to be doctors while others;
(areborntobeartists)
Sure, I could memorize with the best of them.
Sure, I could do it if I wanted to; I could have.
Would that be MY highest potential tho? no.
It would have been for someone else.
I believe we should do the vocation that has called to us since birth. And that calling isn't a career with a profit margin to meet the standards of people not paying my bills.
I wanted to paint and to write.
I wanted to create space to get better at that.
I finally turned to myself in the mirror and said -- you can't do it all. What you want to do matters. And let's base it this time off of what you like; not what you want in a job. So, I sat down and I asked myself "Why? Why are you doing this? Acting like your studying when you are writing? Studying to the smell of oil paints and canvas. You love this hobby thing; this is what you were born to do! And how do I know that? We can feel it inside ourselves.
This is the process I desire to go through;
anything that has to do with making chaos seem beautiful,
again.
I like watching a painting evolve.
I like watching a book evolve on no certain timeline;
just trying to get the words out onto paper in the most creative ways possible.
Living to make yourself cry.
Living to make yourself laugh when pen hits papers.
Living to record it all; once.
I'll know I did a good job; if any one person -- reads it twice.
Where will I be in a year?
Far from here
I am beginning to see the depression I once had as self-induced after trauma made it normal.
All The Best,
Just Who I am Today :)
an artist is always unfolding.