I’m coming off of a very unproductive half of 2016. Unproductive but not uninspired.
Maybe I didn’t get everything I intended to do done. But I’m learning that’s okay. I manage wicked bouts of anxiety and depression and I have in the past shamed myself for not doing enough. If I’m realistic I’m hard on myself, but aren’t we all.
In the time I haven’t been creating much, I’ve been recreating me. Really assessing what I am and what I’m not. Stuff is being tossed out, things that matter are being acquired or more fully appreciated.
I’ll tell you this, I don’t feel lazy. I feel 40 actual pounds lighter physically and 100 pounds lighter emotionally. I’m gearing up to work on a few new art forms I’ve never tried before.
I’m watching a ton more anime and reading a lot more manga because that’s what inspires me. I was watching mostly TV, catching up if you will, but there’s very little magic and joy anymore, even fun adventures get shaken up by the oh let’s kill a main character syndrome going around TV. So what if I work better when I can absorb playful stories instead of morbid ones. ( Though I like GoT and TWD very much, and they never pretended they weren’t going to murder half the cast)
So what if I enjoy fun, some would say childish things. That’s what inspires me. It’s not the only thing but I’m tired of shoving it away, burying it under more mature choices. I like fantasy. I believe in unicorns. Occasionally, it’s fun to throw down in a game of Duel Monsters.
So to answer the title question. Yes, we do. I know I do. Or well I did…things are changing. I’ve come to the heartbreaking realization I do not see myself. Which any of you out there who know archetypes means I am a narcissist.
I’ve spent at 35 years of my life trying to BE SOMEONE, enough to earn the right to live so the voice inside my head telling me I don’t deserve to be here would have to shut up. I have tried to justify my existence by discovering what good I could be in the world. Prayed to my gods to find a meaningful purpose and having received no thing I perceived as a response, forged out on my own.
I tried helping kids by using my talents to write a children’s book. I tried helping by starting a forum for people who felt disenfranchised to encourage each other to do small acts of kindness. I tried writing a book about how we are all ROCKSTARS!
But what I never did was look for me in all that, I figured if I save the world or even a little part of it then finally then, I’ve earned the right to be here maybe just maybe even be loved.
I turned a corner recently realizing that was my own personal demon-when you dug as far into my subconscious as you can go– I was revealed to be someone certain they weren’t supposed to be born, and to make up for the mistake felt they had to achieve every form of success and every level of philanthropy and service. I came into the world as a miracle baby and when my mere presence did not heal (as if any one person’s could) those around me from what tragedies came before me, I was driven to become that miracle at the expense of myself. As a teenager and then a adult, I started to feel pressure to be more, be better, be a good person. One of the most insidious subconscious programs was the need to do great things since even as a baby who in theory can be the greatest thing to happen to their parents I could not steal the grief of losing my brother born still born the year before.
It was never about Stacey. My real name. Which I don’t use in art or writing because I wanted to be somebody new, somebody special, and when I found my spiritual path I thought it would be bold to use my sacred name in my creative endeavors. I suppose in a way I was hiding from the Universe in hopes I could contribute to society before it sent something to wipe me out or a voice to convince me to do it myself.
But here’s the part that stings. Stacey was special. I never looked at her beauty, her genuine kindness, her creativity. And forget beating her up, I neglected her, I abandoned her. I neglected me. I neglected myself.
I know the truth now. I know it in my soul and I’m doing my best to help my mind and body catch up. Stacey isn’t gone, she’s right here, has been right here waiting for me to see her. Waiting for me to see her through the eyes of those who love her. And most importantly waiting for me to realize I don’t have to justify my existence. None of us do. There’s no measure of great works or need to pay back God or anyone for love freely given. No mandatory proof of selfless action required to be deemed worthy of love denied.
If I wasn’t needed here, I wouldn’t be here.
The Universe wanted me.
Nothing can change that.
The Universe wanted you.
Nothing can change that.