Thursday, December 28, 2017

(Almost) Twenty Eight

-"You're only twenty eight..."
-"I'm already twenty eight. When I was fourteen I wrote a 150-page book, and I thought 'if I'm writing this book at age 14, I'll surely do great things in the near future, like publish at least a few books...' And now I'm double the age, and haven't done anything! Some people do amazing things, and I know I could too."
-"Most people don't do earth-shattering things by age twenty eight... Society is always telling us to do more, but we don't need to."
-"I could've been a fruitful me, if I was given the tools to realize my abilities. I studied in the school system for twelve years, throughout which I was not given any tools for self-improvement or the skills needed to bring into action the ideas in my head. Schools need to be more hands-on. They need to be more based on experimentation, on doing things, on just doing and learning how to do, instead of memorizing information and doing tests. Dry knowledge like math equations and WWII-era history fill a certain intellectual need, but my passion for creativity has always been stagnant alongside that and has never gotten a chance to grow. When I was younger, that was alright, because I always felt that the little commas and semicolons of art and creativity that I was able to produce might eventually become something, and that in the future I'd acquire the tools to connect it all, so it was all fascinating. But now those little commas are still all that come forth; a short video, a little drawing, a short text, and nothing becomes of them, nothing connects them. I have never in my life completed a long-term creative project. Never in my whole life. I don't know how. Even if I tried right now, I wouldn't know how. When I entered art school, I thought 'finally now I'll be able to express what's in my head.' But that didn't happen, and I finished art school with nothing that I really loved. I realize I just don't have the tools to bring anything into action. I often sit and look at my mind and think 'it's all in there; the beautiful words for a great novel are in there.' But how do I put those words together? The potential is in me. I feel it. Everything it takes to do the greatest things is already in me. My brain is a jumble just like it was ten and twenty years ago. It's a jumble that's always desperately searching for expression. My passion for creativity is a never-soluble issue, it's always bursting and it's always there. I never found the right receptors for my thoughts. I don't think it's just Western-society's urge of 'success and fulfillment' that's making me feel less than satisfied and detached, but rather it's my own intuition, which knows - and always knew - that I have the ability, but I need the tools and the inspiration. Still today, at twenty eight, I sit in a chair with my brain in my hand and don't fucking know what to do."

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