If at first you don't succeed...

 ...try and try and try and try again.

I cannot even tell you, at this point, how many versions of a diary/journal/blog I have attempted. First hand-written and then online, I have poured my heart out time and time again, only to eventually get bored with it (thank you ADHD), and stop. And a part of me really wants to go back to the hand-written version, but I know that actually picking up a notebook and a pen will be barriers to actually getting anything down. So here we are. Again.

I'm on day 52 of being 50 years old, and I find myself at yet another crossroads. Now that I think of it, every time I find myself at a crossroads, this is where I end up. Writing. Probably because I process best by writing, and lord knows I need to process.

This is the part where I am tempted to write a life story so anyone new can catch up, but 50 years and 52 days is a lot to account for, so I'm gonna skip that, for now at least, and let the past come up when it's a reasonable plot point.

So this crossroads... it's one of those "what the hell am I doing with my life" kind of crossroads. It's the kind where you ask yourself  questions like, "what does it all mean?" and "what's the point of life?" knowing the answers aren't going to come to you magically, the way you want them to. The way you NEED them to. Instead you anticipate much banging of head and gnashing of teeth until you are, again, comfortable with the inevitability of never finding these answers. 

When I get like this I feel like my teenage self, trying to tear through my own brain, expecting that there is more for me, wanting to be bigger and more important. But experience has taught me that this simply isn't true. Experience has taught me that, instead, most people live pretty mundane, unremarkable lives, doing and saying the things society has taught us to do and say. And so, I'm left feeling empty, because my brain doesn't take kindly to what society tells me to do and say. For some people, this approach seems to work -- they spring out of bed every morning and do whatever the hell they want, seemingly not caring about how anyone else will react. Maybe that part is an act, because I can never quite seem to get there, so it's difficult to imagine anyone who can actually not care. I suppose it's true that even the most confident people in the word have their questionable moments. I wish they were more transparent about these moments.

Anyway, right now the question for me is about identity. I used to be a teacher. For the last decade I've been calling myself an artist. For a while, I actually was making stuff and selling it. I did OK for myself. But being a making machine wasn't fun. I lost the joy in it, so I stepped back. Last year I jumped back in, making tons of new stuff, but when it came time to do the shows I had prepped for, sales were dismal. Right now my work is in 2 boutiques, and sales are slow. And I know it's the economy, blah blah blah, but it's still really hard to want to keep making stuff, keep investing money in this so-called business, when I am not making any money to offset the expenses. I take it very personally. I wish I was able to remove myself from it, but it's ART. Art IS personal. My work is my personal expression, so a lack of sales equates to others seeing my lack of talent or skill. It's basically a lack of love and appreciation for me, as the artist. And, of course, then the comparison demon steps in, as I see other artists doing what I do and selling well.

I have to wonder if this is trauma-related to all those times people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up? Like, how the hell is a 5-year old supposed to know the answer to that? How the hell is an 18-year old supposed to know what they want to do for the next 50+ years? Post-pandemic it's honestly hard to decide what I want to do next week! It's funny, though, because I know when I was 5 I had a solid answer. I know that when I was 12, I had a solid answer. I even had a decent idea about what I *wanted* to do when I was 16. But until you're drop-kicked out of the nest, there's no way to know what's realistic, what has longevity, or what the job ACTUALLY looks like.

When I was in 5th grade, I wanted to be a backup singer for Michael Jackson and a photographer. Yes, both. And yes, I could sing, but I wasn't going to be on Star Search at any point. And yes, I owned a camera, but I didn't know anything about how to take great photos... I still don't and that pisses me off. But it proves the point that when you think about what you WANT to do when you grow up, you think about the things you like to do. Makes sense. Why wouldn't you want to spend the rest of your life doing things that are fun? But at some point, life makes a point of stealing this joy from us. We tell kids that they can "do anything" or "be anything" when they grow up, but then, eventually, life says, "NOPE!" Being a backup singer for Michael Jackson AND a photographer (at the same time!) was honestly never, really within my grasp for a multitude of reasons (not just because I am crap at taking pictures). Even my 18-year old dream of being a writer slipped away once I got into college. I had the skills, still do, but the competition of it (I wanted to work for a newspaper) wasn't for me. I've always been on the "we can all win when we work together" team in life, and I found that not to be the case when it came to news writing.

But I digress.

What I really want to do is just make pretty stuff and enjoy it. I don't need to sell anything, just make stuff. But that's not a job, and the lack of financial contribution to the family coffers is upsetting to me. Embarrassing, really. And that's society's fault because we're taught young that we need to BE something, BE someone, when we grow up. What if all I want is to BE happy? Why does that feel valueless to me? Why does that equate to identifying as a freeloader?