Sometimes I wonder if I’m fooling myself.
Scratch that. It’s in the back of my mind every day. I’m always wondering if I’m fooling myself, that I believe I’ll find some talent deep within, nurture it, and make my life more complete, better.
Into something resembling what I want.
But each day I wake up and see the situation as it stands now. And I try very very hard not to hate myself for it.
I can’t help the thought that it’s too damned late for me to find my talent, find my spark and light the world on fire with something to contribute, something beautiful or fun or thoughtful. I’m almost 35 and I keep shaking my head, wondering how the hell I’ve lived this long without actually living.
I see the situation. I see that I’m unable to support myself through various stupidities over the years. I see my shame that my dad is paying my credit card debts–one of them, but bad enough–while I live in his house and daydream about a place of my own. I see my dead-end jobs with not nearly enough hours to get me out of wage slavery, and degrees that I’ve either lost all desire to use or have had little luck with, and is little more than a wall decoration at this point.
Two very nice wall decorations, actually.
And more than that, I can’t help wondering if I’m actually just distracting myself from life by trying all these new things, by allowing myself to be a creative person and play music, paint, write, and make those my priorities.
Am I making authentic changes to improve myself, or am I collecting more hobbies to waste time with and make life slightly more bearable?
Life won’t be bearable until I can make a living doing what I love at this point. And that’s where I want to go.
I spoke to my S.B.C. a bit ago about this conundrum. She suggested forgiving myself for what I perceive to be my failures and moving on.
Forgiving myself? Is that what this is about?
My situation is one of endless comparisons, of not feeling like I’ve belonged anywhere or measured up, or even had a chance. I let one dream override all others, not realizing that a person can hold and work on more than one dream at a time.
That sort of thinking really screwed me over. I didn’t even realize it til today how badly.
I dreamed about being a teacher, about teaching in school, working hard and teaching community college on the side, and writing novels during school holidays and summer break. It was a simple life I planned. I didn’t need to be a millionaire, but I wanted to be expressive and creative and have enough for a few rainy days left over.
My teachers believed I’d be a teacher. My family, my friends, hell, everybody I knew expected me to be a teacher.
I hadn’t expected anything else for myself.
But when teaching didn’t pan out, and over the years grew less likely, all my other dreams somehow disappeared, too. I’ve been trying hard to remember what they were, and finally started figuring some out the past few weeks. These are new dreams that tried to come into being, but I was so hung up on the old idea of what my life would be like that I never gave them a chance.
I never forgave myself for failures in the past, and just kept racking them up instead. I kept lowering my expectations and perceptions of what I could do.
Maybe that’s part of the difference between collecting hobbies and chasing dreams to change my life. It’s a good enough theory, I suppose.
Tonight might be the best time to start forgiving myself. Maybe my dreams will filter in again during sleep, and give me the blueprints and confidence to change my situation for the better.
Worth considering on my part. I have nothing left to lose at this point.