Do you want to know what happens? Well, too bad, because I’m going to tell you; that’s kind of what I do.
So, yesterday, I had all of this creative energy and I typed out five blog posts. Naturally, I thought they were brilliant. So, I sent the links everywhere and posted them in all of the usual places where I post things.
Today, I woke up and cringed about it. Like, who is this guy that thinks he’s so smart and such a great writer? I’m used to this cycle, so I don’t go back and delete everything like I used to. I wish I were the yesterday guy on a more sustained, lengthy basis.
I try to write about my life and experiences, you know? One of those experiences is the creative process of writing, how I do it, and what it feels like. And today, it feels like I want to crawl into a ditch and disappear.
I wrote a pretty long post late last night about what I had to do to achieve supportive housing, and naturally, I thought it was great when I had finished it. I guess the whole self-congratulatory nature of it rubs the version of me that woke up this morning the wrong way. Not that I’ve read it; I hardly ever read what I’ve written beyond editing it. It’s like how people don’t like the recorded sound of their voice on someone’s voicemail or something.
Why don’t I think it’s okay to give myself a little credit, though? This is definitely not a healthy belief that I can’t be openly proud of myself for doing something that I think a lot of people would struggle to do.
Imagine: ‘Hey, go to New York City during the early days of COVID-19 with nothing and survive the streets while maintaining a ripping drug habit. End up with an apartment.’ Right?
Here’s the thing: I did have AI read my whole blog in like seconds and tell me what it was about. One of the themes is someone developing some faith in something bigger than himself. There are overarching themes in these five hundred and fifty-plus posts over the course of the last two years. There is nothing about them that was intended at the outset.
I don’t want to ever take all the credit for things that were definitely blessings, and I hope I always give all props to the benevolent force of the universe that protects me and makes things possible that logically should definitely not be possible. Not because I’m worried about God getting pissed at me for denying it the credit it deserves; honestly, any higher power is infinitely beyond something like that. If I were to think that I willed all of the things that happen to me, it would give me the idea that I have way more power than I actually do, which is a prescription for recklessness that I really cannot afford.
Allow me to think I’m an ill motherfucker sometimes, I guess. Afford me that courtesy, and I’ll try to afford it to myself. I’m still very much all in for this writing thing, fully committed to the bit.
HEY, OK, YEAH:
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