The joke is that zen is not actually a drug. And I don’t actually talk about Zen in this post, but it’s pretty much why I’m here.
I find myself sitting here, wondering just how much I’ve been deluding myself.
I’ve had this thought in my head: maybe I could start a self-sustaining side business of illustrating and making hand-made goods. And I keep thinking about it, and fantasizing about it. But I don’t have the spoons for much else but going to work and sleeping. I’ve dabbled, but not much else.
So this idea has been in my head since I graduated from college, and I just…haven’t made it happen. I’ve tried. It’s exhausting. It’s confusing. And I face planted several times.
I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad. Thousands of people have the same fantasies, and they pour everything they have into making them realities. And they fail anyway.
Like, everyone wants to listen to the TED talk of the entrepreneur who quit his job and is now “living his dream”. They want to think to themselves, if I had the courage, that could be me too.
But the thing is, courage had nothing to do with it. The job he quit was white collar, and he had the money to finance himself. The man himself is white, abled, and well-connected. He didn’t start from scratch and work his way up. He had all the pieces already, and he was already up.
And then there’s the people who actually started from nothing. But they know how to be likable. They know how to be someone people want around. They know how to network. When I try, people give me a chance because they pity me, and I inevitably disappoint them when they realize that I am more effort than they bargained for. Or they want to fuck me, which I haven’t always figured out until I was being called a bitch for not putting out, or until I was trying to pry some grandpa motherfucker’s hands out of my pants.
I’m just not the kind of person that can make this work.
I know that it’s unreasonable to expect any success, but I can’t make myself quit this quaint little hipster dream. I just want to cut it out of my head.
I guess the reason it’s so hard to let go is that I just don’t know what I should do to protect myself and look after myself.
My jobs are taking a ridiculous toll on my mental health, and I want an escape from that. I have bombed every job interview I have ever went on in the past two years, and getting a better job than what I have doesn’t seem like something accomplishable.
I don’t feel my living arrangement is ok to bring a child into, and I have this fantasy of making enough money to move far away, so I can get knocked up and not have to worry.
This fantasy is a manifestation of hope that I’m going to somehow be better and more in control. Holding onto it is deluding myself and I wonder how much I could actually accomplish if I just let it go.
But no, I’m just sitting here thinking wistfully to myself, “someday” knowing damn well that day is never going to come, and this is it.
I really don’t think there’s anything I can do to make my life better, and I don’t know what to do with that thought. Accepting where I am, as I am is about all I can come up with. And I guess it’s hard to let that art fantasy die, because I have to let go of the fantasies attached with it. Autonomy, comfort, a child. Being something resembling normal and having a life that isn’t this.
I am just not capable of being that or having that.
This is it.
And it just feels ugly and unfair and it hurts.
But I think I’m ok.
This doesn’t mean I’m going to stop my dabbling or stop writing. It just means the expectations I have for myself are a little less, and hopefully also a little more achievable.