Oh my fucking god if I see one more artist or writer tell me that the magic isn’t found in the unreliability of inspiration but the consistency of showing up…
The whole month of January, like the little capricorn I am, discipline has been on my mind. I had taken a long flight from any notion of structured discipline for many years now. What I really think I was probably running from was the slew of shame and anxiety discipline, or my lack of it, would stir up in me. I was sick and fucking tired of optimizing myself, of buying in to the illusion that my dream life was just out of reach because I wasn’t working hard enough, because I didn’t have the will power to push through. I had spent too much of my youth waking from a nap with a deep pit in my stomach. I told myself, I can achieve my dreams regardless. I refuse to be made wrong! Consistency is a myth! Are the seasons consistent? Is the moon consistent? Why should my own body be???
I could not keep reciting the same story of shame to myself. No matter how many times I told myself that my laziness was bad it never felt like the truth. No, because truth is never a second morning alarm, nor a bright neon sign, nor gripping your keys in-between your fingers. The truth feels the same every single time. A deep exhale. And knowing that I could still achieve my dreams regardless of how many times I lay down felt like that–a deep exhale.
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