People often say that they wish times were simpler. That the past harkened back to something more easy I don’t. I wish it was the spaces in my head that were less dense. That would make things more simple for me and for my life. I wish that I could do more and be satisfied with less. But I can’t, and I don’t. I wish only for more. More and more and more again. Always more. Then when things screeched to a halt, when I find there is no more, then I don’t know what it is I want.
The thing is, in an interim between jobs, when you have more time to think, you wonder what it is that you really want. You wonder what is that you really should want. I don’t know. There are so many talents that I should have but I don’t. The irony is I have all the time in the world to find them, but I now fight against my own motivation. I now fight against myself. In some ways, when you have all the time, you become your own enemy. Your headspace becomes the dark place, a place that you need to avoid; the place where you fear to go.
Sometimes I find I can’t work until around midday. I go to gym classes. I come back. I shower, I breakfast, I call home. Why is it when you have so much that you want to achieve time simply runs away with you. Why is it that sometimes your very own mind becomes the thing that you must fight against. Why is it the thing I prize most, the sacred space that houses my imagination, somehow seems to conspire against me?
And then I fear, I get frightened. And it is my fear which cripples me. Leaves me as nothing more than a husk which can lie on the bed and indulge in apps. I hate myself for doing it, the inner voice inside me screams for release. It howls at me to do something, anything, to break this vicious cycle. Yet it is like my inner workings are somehow split, that they coalesce into light and dark, hope and fear. Waged in a constant war.
It is in this interim and I have had the time to think, and through my thinking comes simply confusion.
Am a writer? Do I have a voice which is worth saying anything?
Am I a social media and marketing expert? Do I have that drive and ambition, something I would never have considered in the past has to be lacking in me, to chase the corporate dream?
Am I simply shallow, and chasing glamorous PR roles which will feed the void of my vanity?
Then I think I do not know what it is I actually want. I find I wish for things when it is too late to wish for them. I find I yearn for simpler things which I know I cannot have. For things which perhaps exist only in the stories that I hold so dear.
I feel that beyond the veil there are people with chains, and they wait to bind me again. I want to break free but I do not know how. I do not know if freedom is perhaps just an elusive and romantic concept which has no place in the modern world of metropolitan London.
I do not set much store by horoscopes, I think that they are bullshit quite frankly. But they often say of Pisceans that long to escape this world, that they dream in fantasies, and find that the fantasies they spin are so much more preferable. Somehow, such a description has always resonated with me. I feel that it is an apt account of my personality; I have always lapsed into fantasy as easily as falling asleep. It feels entirely natural to me to dream of the unnatural.
And yet, where do I go from here?
I feel the stories I have always dreamt of writing now call to me stronger than ever. I find that I long to make that desire to escape this world a part of my career. How I wish that I could simply write fiction and spin stories all day long. But I try to compromise, mostly with myself, and I try to think of practical ways to use my skill set when coupled with my odd desires and my refusal to simply accept the every day as it is. As most other people that I have known seem to do so ably.
I know one thing. I simply cannot pen push in an office, it kills me and it kills my soul. If I am not using my mind, my skills, my abilities and my imagination, then I am nothing. I feel nothing. The future may frighten me, the chains of work may frighten me, but the prospect of monotony frightens me far more. Work may be chains, unwelcome but entirely necessary, but monotony is to have my eyes and my tongue cut out.
I see jobs come up every day, jobs that I am excited to apply for. And yet I wonder if that excitement is truly in my heart or if it simply stems from the necessity and an expectation that a society has dictated to me. The drive to be successful is absolutely there, it is not that I am lazy, but it is also the desire to see something fulfilling in my days. For something which ignites in me that fire for what I do which I have heard other people speak of.
I have felt it, sometimes. When I’m in the midst of writing, or doing something else which I must immerse myself within my imagination, then that is when I have been the happiest. It is when there are stories spun, and most particularly stories with an element of the romantic and fantastical, stories which feel like they are straight out of a dream, that I would never consider something as mundane as time. Hours are not counted when those hours are treasured.
I feel that I am at a crossroads in life and I do not know which road it is I am supposed to walk down. I do not know which roads it will be possible to walk down. I only know, or I am trying to know, the road that I want to walk down.
A content producer role recently came up at one of the world’s leading video game companies. Now there is a career path and road where I think I could be happy. Where stories and imagination I’m not simply idle fantasies to procrastinate in hours of the working day, but a part of the very thing I must do. I pray that I may somehow marry what I am good at with what is possible.
Perhaps it is just a side-effect of working at home on various freelance projects, but many days now I feel so terribly lost. So terribly alone. Perhaps that is why many mornings I feel frozen and unable to move.
But I guess I should also remember that changing times mean changing opportunities. And right now, that can only be a good thing.