All My Pics

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

I refuse to leave this life without making my mark in this world.

I'm really not sure how to begin this. But if I don't then it will eat me up inside.

I read posts from the blog of an artist that inspires me. And what I've realized during the whole process is just how shallow I am in comparison.

He wrote about his dreams at night. His emotions. His daydream travels and internal idiosyncrasies. All so beautifully scripted and naturally flowing, as if he hadn't even tried . And the truth of it is, he didn't. It was his own personal release of things kept inside and never exposed to those outside his world.

I read everything, stayed up hours into the night, awestruck with how he poured his heart out. I was unaware that any human being had the capacity to bear such thoughts and emotions. I know I certainly don't, in spite of the fact that I've often been considered a girl of deeper, darker thoughts, with wisdom for my age.

The thing is... I want to have that capacity. I feel as if it is the only thing that let him get to the place he is now. It is what influences so many people to follow him, to admire him. It is what makes one desire to have a significant role in his life, in hopes that maybe you should be that one who caught his attention, the one he wants to figure out and get to know better. A foolish fantasy for many, but impossible to let go of.

I want to be that person who inspires others to look a little further inside themselves. However, I feel like in order to be that person, something has to traumatize me first. I mean, really, let's be honest - all those well-known people who are renowned for their wisdom, emotion, creativity, spirituality, raw talent, etc., and none of it is because of looks or any lucky privilege they had been conveniently graced with - they all had some kind of horrid tragedy happen to them. Or perhaps they had their own inner anxieties and conflicts that haunted them throughout childhood or began as they became a young adult. Either way, I've pretty much deduced that in order to be the person I desperately want to become, I have to have either been born a little insane (as much as I would liked to have been, this is not the case) or something will have to turn my world upside down - very soon.

Is it weird that I envy the people who are endowed with bursting emotion, thought and creativity, knowing that it is basically guaranteed to be served with a side of insanity from birth? Am I wishing something upon myself that I should feel lucky not to be automatically burdened with? In the words they put down, it is obvious that they are lacking in many essential areas: sleep, satisfaction with themselves, and, depending on the artist, socializing. These are all things that I have a little phobia of lacking. But even still... I want to make the impact they've made. And in the same manner as they have too - raw, effortlessly, without putting thought into what will please who, and without the constant worry of who they will disappoint, who will be left unimpressed. It is who they are that puts their followers in such awe and admiration of them - and what could be more effortless that being who you are?

But who I am is not impressive.
I am all too average to leave anyone "wonderstruck".


  1. That was a wonderful essay. Part of being a writer is being able to state your passions and desires in a beautiful and poetic way and anyone can tell you that you did just that with this blog post. You don't need a bad experience or a hint of insanity. All you need to do is believe in yourself because, believe it or not, you've left me "wonderstruck".

    1. Thank you so much, that says a lot. I mean it. Now if only I had more readers...


Like it? Comment. Don't like it? Comment anyway.