I’ve been here in LA for three weeks now. In the midst of all the packing and moving and figuring out my new schedule and not having a real bed to sleep on or a real desk to work at and worrying about paying bills and making new friends and not getting lost and working on my own for 10 hours a day or more, it has been really easy to lose focus of why I’m here in the first place.
Ooh, I’ve been struggling with that.
Stream of consciousness is going to take over. So if you don’t want to hear me whine or understand the ridiculous inner workings of my brain, you may want to skip this post.
My top strength is intellection – meaning I’m a good thinker and I think a lot. To the point where I edit myself before I even say or write anything. So this is going to be a sucky post full of my meandering mind’s rabbit trails. I may not even hit post, but I have to think out loud. I have to process. I’d be saying all these things with a counselor or therapist, but I don’t want to pay one right now.
I spend Monday-Thursday working for C3 from my bedroom in Van Nuys. I don’t have a real bed. I don’t have a desk. I sit in a warm bedroom trying to accomplish something. And I have been frozen/paralyzed trying to accomplish anything. It’s easy to get distracted on my own. I research and go down too many rabbit holes. My goal is to be developing and posting content for our clients, and for Act One for that matter. But I am seriously frozen. I’m in search of those connections for each of the places I’m working. I’m searching for the right content and the right thing to say and at the right time. But there are voices in my head telling me that’s not good enough or that doesn’t make sense or that doesn’t line up with the brand or you can’t write or you’re not qualified. Dang it. I hate being my worst enemy.
I’m a consumer of media instead of a producer of media. When did that happen? When did I stop creating? I am creative, but I’m an extreme perfectionist too. If I don’t think it’s good enough, it doesn’t see the light of day. Or I’m always too responsible and get the priorities taken care of before I actually create anything. How do parents maintain a household, work a job, invest in their family and still create? Huge respect for them.
There are ideas floating around in this head and emotions floating around in this soul, but I have bottled them up and blocked them out to the point where I’m really not sure what’s going on inside anymore.
In reality, they’re all a bunch of excuses.
I came out here because of a dream I’ve had since I was 15 years old, but I’ve been so focused on getting out here and just surviving that I’ve even blocked the dream out. What’s wrong with me? If I’m going to create I need to know what’s going on inside. I need to get the crap out. I need to get messy. My life is rather effortless compared to a lot of people. I have really amazing parents and my brothers are some of my favorite people ever; I even like their significant others. I have a job that I’m decently good at and co-workers who are the reason I still work there. A church in Bellevue that is made up of perfectly imperfect people whom I love. I’m healthy, and I never go hungry. I’m well taken care of. I have absolutely nothing to complain about, and I’m afraid that I have no good life experiences to create from. Ha, how ridiculous is that. I’m whining about the fact that my life is good.
Doesn’t great art come from the hard places in life? Maybe not. Maybe it just comes from being truthful with life.
I’m pretty mild mannered. Uninteresting. I can blend into the background. Forgettable to a certain extent. I don’t want to be that way. I want people to wonder where I’m at or where’d she go or what new thing does she have to tell us today. Maybe subconsciously that’s why I drive a lime green vehicle. Maybe I wanted people to notice me or know that I exist.
Everybody wants to know that they’re worth it. We as Americans put a strong value on the individual. We tend to fight for the one and cheer on the one and elevate the one. Not everyone gets to be that “one.” Most of the time we’re the background players. Will I be ok if my life is a background player? I’ll still matter. I do matter. My story does matter. My story is intertwining with you whoever you are that might be reading this if I ever decide to hit publish. Every link matters. Every line of the story that He is writing matters. I matter. Even if I may not understand it.
Maybe I just needed to hear that I mattered tonight. Maybe you did too.