Tastes like olive branch
Apart from the views expressed last blog, none of which I am walking back so much as an inch, there is a part of me that likes the aspect of sharing my inner-most and reflexive thoughts.
This might take a bit of untangling, so bear with me.
Of the manifold, multifarious reasons this company exists, beyond making that sweet loot and concentrating solely on writing as a means of survival, is to be myself. Express the deluge of things that go through my head. To learn about that strange fella that opens my cupboards and decipher what’s going on in his bee-hive of a brain.
I feel most at home when I am creating. I am most at ease when I am creating. I am the most confident and least anxious when I, you guessed it, am in the creative process.
This part is overwhelming. The publishing aspect; the sharing of my intimate works with people that I know to varying degrees or have never met. Acceptance is not my guiding thread; other than generating sales and working towards the objective of becoming a cabin-dwelling weirdo with a time card that has only been punched-in once and will never need to be punched-out again. So acceptance is scalar.
Of all the negative things that I said about blogging in the last post, there is one major positive that could come from this: That you read it and it hits home with you.
One of the core concepts that is employed in my writing is identity. Y’all haven’t been exposed to the large surplus of stories and tales that I have in the armory. You will, in time. In trying to describe my writing to curious folk, I realised that the theme of identity appears a lot. It is clearly something I have thought about, struggled to understand within or outside of the realm my immediate and sub conscious. It’s something that is as profound a topic as it was hundreds of years ago: cogito ergo sum, anyone? Identity, for all of us, undergoes is a continuous remodeling and refining process that never abates in the perpetual flux of being.
Independent as Fuck
That tag-line means something much deeper beyond salient, brand-centric cursing. Even more than doing things my way and being cognizant all the blame or praise will be heaved squarely back at me. It means something more than choosing cover art, story structure, language and formatting.
It means being yourself. It means being true and genuine and authentic to the little man guiding the robot shell of a body that we all lumber through this journey with.
If these blogs are important for one reason (and my writing style in the grander scheme), it should be the lesson of accepting yourself and being ‘you’ for the sake of no one else but yourself. Set aside the aforementioned fears of people learning too much, burning out my topics and repeating myself ad nauseam. If it takes me a thousand times of saying ‘be true to yourself’ for someone to absorb it on the 1,001st time, then it was all worth it.
If there is anything that I hope me spilling my brain instills in the readers is that after three-plus decades of wading in the swamp of uncertainty, I am proudly and confidently being the man who I believe that I am. What may be natural to some was a blind, aggregate mission for me. It was a fight. It took a long time to connect with what I am really about and not what I thought I should be about. Not what someone wants you to be. Not a censored version that tries to limit or blunt his wit for the sake of good taste. Not regrettably withholding love or hate when it is felt and should be screamed. Not being ashamed or shy about an interest or an opinion. Not dumbing down and not trying to live up to people in a certain scenario. Not worrying I am too weird. Not trying to fit in.
This is hard, yo. I mean, remember being a teenager or starting a new job and cutting a character that seemed like the idealized version of what you were thinking people desired? No more and never again.
If the blog resonates with only a couple of odd-balls, that’s awesome. Not being yourself is disingenuous to you and the people around you. It’s a state of confusion when no one has a clear perspective on a true identity, walled away by things like doubt, dread and anxiety. These are normal, mind you. These are not irrational defence mechanisms, just the ones that we allow ourselves to use as a shield more often than not. Hiding these dark and shadowy feelings of inadequacy or the self-imposed terror of being too silly or too sexual are what we are socialized to do.
De-enculturation then. Normalize the abnormal. I mean, don’t hurt anybody…
Look. We all wear masks. We all wear uniforms for the desired position that we have chosen or are forced to ply in order to eek out an existence. In my point of view, that the meaningless of life can only be translated by Player-1 for Player-1; it is far easier to earn clarity of vision when you can see and feel properly; unencumbered by wearing an ill-fitting costume where the eye holes don’t line up properly or an ill-fitting posture-straightening device that numbs the extremeties.
The blog and the hallmark of my content, if you are like me at least, should be evidence that you and your insecurities are not alone and drifting out in some cold, far corner of space. It should be evidence that seemingly normal-ass, everyday people are rife with the doubt and anxiety of being themselves, for fear of putting-off other normal-ass, everyday people and potentially being ridiculed. By that reasoning, we are all hiding ourselves away from one another out of the irascible fear that they are that much different than us. Kind of sounds like we all probably have so much more in common that we give each other credit for, right? Is it hubris? Ego? The idea that we are all that much more special than the next person and they won’t get us? We’re not normal but everyone else is? Of course, we can only hear our own thoughts. Everyone’s weird, man: Run it.
Fuck em, fuck em all.
That isn’t to say that apathy is the answer. It’s actually the opposite. Nor is a detestably overt self-love the key ingredient. It’s the search. It’s the journey. An expedition to the centre of yourself to unwire the learned behaviours to dig-out a footing that points you in the right direction towards actually knowing yourself. Eventually, being yourself. Then, saying ‘I’m Dope!’ even if you’re not: Run it.
The best you? Eventually, maybe. The true you? That tastes better.
Once again, I’m not going back on anything I said in the previous post; just that we all have light and darkness inside of us; we have to learn to embrace both and convert them both as a fuel to power our engines. Life is a unique riddle for every cat. You have to embrace both extremes and learn that good and bad things will happen with no logical playlist; and sometimes the best way to deal with whatever comes your way is to remember that it happens to everybody. Everybody’s life sucks sometimes and is amazing sometimes, probably less often than they lead on. There are no hexes or rain clouds that follow you and only you: it’s chance, hap-hazard and randomly assigned. You may feel alone, but you’re not.
Seriously, how can anyone tell if your crying or smiling behind that giant mask?
I guess… I’m happy to have this platform, if people do read it with earnest intent, to promote the notion that it’s stressful and frightening to be the weirdo you’ve always been afraid to be. It is for all of us. But, it’s possible and ends up feeling like the weight of a planet has been removed from your shoulders. Don’t be ashamed, just realize that some people won’t always get along. Some dogs will bite you for no reason. Better to find out sooner than later. Just let them sniff your hand. I wouldn’t have met half the weirdos I have if I didn’t take the mask off, and I love those fucking crazy kittens more than I love a good cuppa. One true soul-baring relationship is worth more than a million fake friends. I’d rather one lion than a hundred sheep.
Sorry for cussin’