There is a large disconnect between my desires and the actions I know I can take to devour them.
How does one cure this ailment?
I look at my current project as a prolific affair for not only my career, but the full time job of raising myself. The amount of ideas and inspiration I am demanding from myself to 1. succeed 2. stand out 3. feel satisfied is a genuine drive down a road I feel familiar with, yet also find to be slightly foreign.
A few months ago my all-around motivation to move forward seemed to be in the right place, if you were on the outside looking in. Time back tracked as I allowed myself to loath each and every movement I made within this vast, unpredictable universe. The thought of simply getting my picture taken felt as though my melancholic soul was going to be on blast. How pathetic.
How does one get to where I was then and where I am now? How do we trudge through plateaus and find ourselves in steady stripe upward, shunning the fears that once consumed our daily routine?
It all comes down to the c word; confidence. Where did i find my confidence? Not my closet. Not my a brilliant feel-good op ed piece from TIME. The confidence, frankly, has existed all along. I remember watching my mother come out of her shell the year she turned 40. FORTY. Once again, pathetic.
Circling back to the aforementioned question (prior to the FORTY yell-rant) I honestly believe that my confidence was subject to the turning of a blind eye. I finally pressed my palms against my yoga mat and eloquently said how I felt without ignoring my personal empowerment and realistic view on life as I know it.
Men are sitting on the back burner; I really don’t care about my presence in that light right now. I have to do me because I can’t let this cat out of the bag at 40; it would scratch someones eye out for the sake of not having a third of their own.
Pulling back the layers of feelings towards my current state is like picking a scab; it brings satisfaction for a brief moment and then stings while blood begins to pool.