I am both driven and plagued by the conviction that if one works hard enough, they can achieve anything. They can make anything work, push themselves further than anyone, especially themselves, thought possible.
A classic American cultural value. Good old optimism and elbow grease. Taking hold of your life and making something good.
But it doesn’t apply to everything. I knew that. But still, when it’s time to bail, I find myself blaming my weakness, my lack of faith, my inability to self-motivate, my lack of desire. Whether it’s true or not, I want to blame myself, berate myself for being so incompetent, so weak, so tired.
I came to California thinking I had to do it all. But I see now that things have to back up a bit. Maybe I jumped the gun, put too much faith in my own abilities, maybe I was naïve, or maybe I needed to learn more about what I do and do not want out of my life.
If I divide myself, I will be divided. I should not divide myself so much if I cannot accept the consequences. As a biologist, I should know that energy is finite.
Perhaps in a higher energy season, I could have pulled it off.
But I came here drained. I could only hope I’d be all right. So far, I still cling to that hope. It feels like I start again every week, and not in the good way. The never-settling-down kind of way, the constant-exhausting-complications kind of way.
But am I just jumping off because things have gotten hard? Too many warning signs cropped up in the 14-day period I just spent without a day off from work or school. Where I needed to do homework little by little, but left it undone for days because I was simply too tired to concentrate and resist the stress. Today is my first day off in two solid weeks, and it must be spent working on homework.
I haven’t been playing much these days. I can’t muster much more than noncommittal doodles, scribblings, and homework. I want to draw digitally, but I don’t have the energy. I haven’t been getting enough sleep. The constant strain and frustration of never feeling settled has made me unhappy. It took me weeks to admit it.
I’ve been waiting for more coherency to write a life update. More courage to focus on only the positives, poke fun at my own insecurities to help work through them, think deeply enough for organized social commentary. After such a long silence, I wish I had something more interesting, more polished.
But this is all I have on the nonfiction front. At least for now.
Don’t worry about me. Things are in hand. They just need to shift.