Ground Zero
I kept on scribbling and scratching out and scribbling and scratching out and scribbling and scratching out, to the point where my fingers were bleeding graphite and ink and yet I couldn’t write a single sentence. My eyes went numb and so did my right hand. The page was still blank, heavily spotted but blank, still and all.
Why? Because I was trying to fill in the void. I was, trivially, trying to shrewdly come up with something, not thinking for a second about what that said-something might be.
It was to no avail, now that my mind is at peace. I was missing heavy quintessence; I was missing my own self.
I thought that, erratic or neat, as long as I was jotting down something, it meant I was underlining what important steps I was going to take this year. Instead of that, I was taking no steps. I wasn’t even moving a bit, just plain planning a pace I was never going to take for the sole and only reason that I had in my mind that I needed to do something new. The idea of having resolutions and sticking to them overpowered me to the point where I had not only none, but had wounded my self-esteem that wasn’t even at its highest in the first place.
Consequently, this made me think of the only thing, the only living soul, that was causing this whole damage: me! I’m not saying it in a bad way – although it may sound quite bizarre – but I consider self-deprecation to be a good trait (to a certain extent). I was forcing myself to create what I was incapable of at the expense of my own frame of mind for the sake of the unknown but predicted satisfaction that was meant to happen at the completion of the ‘check-in’ process at the end of the year. Was it going to be worth it? I had no idea since I dropped the thought and I fairly believe it wouldn’t’ve been worth the energy, time and mental balance I would waste throughout the year. Was I going to stay still with no concrete vision? Absolutely not.
Instead of throwing priceless time and effort into some diets that’d last for a week or into unrealistic money saving methods or even just plain threshold related to reading or writing… I decided this year that I was not going to decide what to do and what to accomplish, knowing pertinently that I will neither stick to them due to my fickle and noncommittal self, nor I was going to be that much content with corporealizing any of them since they were more of a ‘statements to prove a point’ kind of resolutions than actual ‘goals’ for me to materialize.
With that being said, I, at no time, would allow myself to walk with my eyes closed, with no destination in mind, heedlessly aiming a fictional nirvana. I, simply put, chose to dig up my path on my own while ambulating through life instead of fixing seemingly-clear objectives that would eventually curb my creativity. I’d rather have versatile and variant aspirations that would put their own two cents into the game and contribute to a hopefully unsubtle growth and blossom of creativity and resourcefulness.
This year, I will treasure trove myself. I will dot the i’s and cross the t’s and put order into both my lifestyle and perspective. I will materialize what I’m supposed to materialize and work on what would result in my thriving. Flourishing my artistry would be a priority but in no way I would halt on that only. Exploring in depth my soul and mind and tracking the footprints I’ll leave in between to analyse the process; that’s the purpose this time.
This year will be the year of discoveries.