Balancing the Equation
Why do we fear hearing our feelings vocalized? The potential for persecution, embarrassment? Rejection? Which do we truly live for: the endless pursuit of happiness, or the quiet suppression of our despair?
Some time ago, I made a rather small decision to no longer spend my energies creating others’ ideas, but rather use that same time and dedication and apply it to my own creations; thus, my forward momentum toward practicing editorial outside of my own writing. The hope is, this will eventually see me truly content with my line of work.
Yesterday, I came to the realization that I must take this further, as I’ve spent much of the last several years not only constructing my own visions, but also devouring those of others: books, comics, videogames, movies, television shows—all imaginings ripe for consumption and which I’ve greedily and tirelessly pored over. Distractions. Entertainment. Suicide hotlines to stifle our consideration on the futility of life.
I believe this must end. Not all at once and certainly not altogether, but a rebalancing of priorities is in order. Which means what, exactly? In the end, not much in the grand scheme of the universe, but perhaps more time for work on my writing. Also, and far more to the point to which I am fighting toward, more time with those I truly care about. More time to be with them, explore with them, experience with them.
That is what makes me truly happy—not disappearing into the void of another’s dystopia. I need to capture that feeling. And for all the life of me hold on with all my might.
Some time ago, I made a rather small decision to no longer spend my energies creating others’ ideas, but rather use that same time and dedication and apply it to my own creations; thus, my forward momentum toward practicing editorial outside of my own writing. The hope is, this will eventually see me truly content with my line of work.
Yesterday, I came to the realization that I must take this further, as I’ve spent much of the last several years not only constructing my own visions, but also devouring those of others: books, comics, videogames, movies, television shows—all imaginings ripe for consumption and which I’ve greedily and tirelessly pored over. Distractions. Entertainment. Suicide hotlines to stifle our consideration on the futility of life.
I believe this must end. Not all at once and certainly not altogether, but a rebalancing of priorities is in order. Which means what, exactly? In the end, not much in the grand scheme of the universe, but perhaps more time for work on my writing. Also, and far more to the point to which I am fighting toward, more time with those I truly care about. More time to be with them, explore with them, experience with them.
That is what makes me truly happy—not disappearing into the void of another’s dystopia. I need to capture that feeling. And for all the life of me hold on with all my might.
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