a kind of betrayal
I haven't gotten around to writing an essay for the blog lately. I haven't gotten around to realizing that it's a slump, either, because uh, I have been writing, if writing meant writing the first paragraphs of many prompts on the spur of the moment that it excited me, then I have to do something else, like a chore or a task at work, I have to be somewhere, or I simply just pause writing for the sake of waiting for better words to come out, then... Then, when I get back to my draft, I am bored the hell out of it and have completely depleted my energy for the day.
The result is that I have a lot of apples, with each one with a medium-sized bite on them. In this analogy, I'm the biting, chewing child and the apples are my writing prompts. I cannot reach the finish line these days. Maybe it’s still my own standards, and possibly the fact that I cannot get into a ‘zone’. I also think it has something to do with an addition in my priorities after doing my 2025 vision board and goals list. I’ve been focusing on those when I’m not writing, so I haven’t really sat down to have a substantial writing session for the blog.
I may have this ridiculous fear that putting writing on my schedule as a time block is easily just going to be an activity of pulling out the proper passages and sentences in a game of tug of war where I'm the loser almost every time. I see it that way because I feel like any hint of genius that can come from me is something that is directly proportional with how much luck I have in me. Anything that I can spit out that will be close to magical will somehow be just a happenstance that I cooked with trial and error, a result heavily influenced by unknown forces of the universe. As if I am merely a vessel, which I at least know is not true.
I want to tell myself now that that's a reasoning full of shit and is therefore a self-betrayal because of the erasure of my own skill. I started to observe it about writing, but I realize that I pull this behavior in other areas of my life, too. Someone would compliment me, nicely, and I’d deflect. I’ve probably brushed maybe some 80% of compliments I’ve ever received on anything off. I would say something like beginner’s luck, even if I’ve done that thing a couple of times before. Maybe in other times, I’d pass on the credit to someone else so quickly like a hot pan on my bare palms. In those moments I probably don’t even feel like it’s a lie - I think I’d literally just say anything under a mask of humility except take and recognize the compliment, say thank you and get on my merry way.
No, I’d rather say something stupid and disrespect myself. I realize now that is undoubtedly unfair. I wouldn’t look at someone else’s artwork and immediately assume the logical explanation of a painter from the renaissance period possessing them mid-creation. I’d say something better. I cannot imagine being on the receiving end of someone’s work and the first thing that comes to mind is they probably can’t do it the second time. I wouldn’t do something like that with a friend, why do I do it to myself?
give credit where credit is due
I’ve always believed in that, but I feel so very singular, so it’s easy to miss the kind of betrayal I do when I don’t apply it to myself, even in just those little moments when someone compliments me. The next time it happens, trust that I will say thank you and tell truthfully that it feels great to be appreciated.
There’s also vulnerability when being exposed that you’ve done real work that must be hard and difficult, since I’ve long since realized that it’s so natural wanting to be seen like you’re not trying too hard, like you’re not struggling, but you actually do. I want to remind myself that it doesn’t have to be that uncomfortable feeling of shame. I’ve read it once on my Twitter feed before and it stuck with me: I will no longer be afraid to be seen trying.
With that and this post, I officially announce the separation of my writing with the otherworldly. I'm going to write, in the zone or not, whether it's for the blog or not. I’m not going to wait for the magic anymore and will desperately try to lower my standards for myself. Why do I always feel I have to bend backwards for perfection? I will talk to myself about that some other time.
Whatever I accomplish here, it is because of me. So maybe there’s never going to be a better piece than the one I’m writing at the moment.
I will thank myself and everyone that will get to read it as always; that it exists, it was written and it was read.
25 Apr, 2025
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