I’ve been considering ways to make myself interested in my writing again. I remember when I first started doing this, and how I’d challenge myself to try completely new things, unsure whether or not they’d have any value. I remember being much more open and honest in my writing. I’d like to get back to that uncomfortable territory. The deeper you dig, the more uncomfortable it becomes, but maybe that’s how you stop yourself from becoming stale and soft. And fuck it. What do I have to lose? I don’t care about my popularity. I just want to write things I think have value. But it’s difficult to find inspiration for that kind of thing if you deny it when it’s uncomfortable.
I woke up at 3am and I can’t get back to sleep. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own insecurities and concerns and whether or not they’re justified. I’ve been thinking about who I am, the values I have and the qualities I respect.
I think it boils down to not being a competitive person, and not knowing what’s bad about that. In professional terms, terms of personal relationships and in terms of mental and physical health, I don’t think I’m keeping up. I think there are a lot of aspects of my life that, if challenged on, I’d have little to defend myself with.
But why should I defend myself on those aspects? I’m honest and kind, and I try to do as little harm to the world as possible. I take my own responsibilities seriously, and if I ever owe something to someone else, I work diligently to repay them with interest. In my own trivial, unspectacular way, I think I’m making my immediate sphere of influence at least a little better. Should I be ashamed of being unspectacular when the most fascinating people are making the world so much worse? I’m not sure I’m really going anywhere in life, but if I’m basically happy and comfortable, and I can maintain that, is there any good in pushing to change that? Most people in the world don’t have the privilege of comfort and happiness. Wouldn’t it be terribly ungrateful for me to mess around with these aspects of my life because I didn’t think they were fucking “interesting” enough?
I think this is why I like animals so much. Animals don’t have any understanding of status. They just respond positively to kindness and negatively to cruelty. I tend to get along well with kids and animals, but if I’m placed in a situation with an unfamiliar adult, I really don’t know what to do. Like, it would be arrogant to even attempt to interest them. I’m immediately relieved when those situations end, and I can return to people I feel confident already like me.
For the sake of the friends I already have, I find it’s crucial to have shared interests. Something to deflect to. My personal life is terribly boring, so I have to be able to discuss something that I’m actually passionate about. Isn’t that why art exists? People are mundane, so we have to see something else explore the extreme highs and lows of the world while not leaving our comfort zones? Isn’t the point of social drinking to bring everybody down to the same basic, impulsive level, so we can actually relate to other people for a while? Isn’t this why depression is much more common now? Because we’re ashamed of how unspectacular we are, and we don’t really know why we’re doing what we’re doing? Isn’t that the source of a lot of modern problems? People are generally aware of much more interesting things now, and anyone can become a celebrity, so they feel they have to push to become as interesting as possible. Weren’t we all a lot happier when we didn’t deny how boring we were?
That’s probably like games, or something.