Moving Forward
Progress. What does that even mean? To move forward for me always looks like a drunken shuffle. Sidestepping ideas, passions, and near misses. One step forward, two back, then one and a half forward again. Progress.
Mostly, I always feel like I’m zigzagging towards something I can’t define. The issue for me has never been a lack of passion, but rather, an abundance of it spread in many directions. So, progress always seems skewed. Then, when I look back, I see that I’ve moved the ball forward. I’ve covered new ground, but I got there in the most non-linear fashion imaginable because there’s no roadmap to this journey of mine.
Mountain top moments elicit panic more than self-adulation. It never feels enough. It never feels right. Hell, it never feels like anything to be honest. I’m just numbly chasing goals and achievements to measure up to some litmus I can’t fully fathom. Perhaps I’m trying to make my father or my family proud.
I’ve chased approval from online strangers, employers, and miscellaneous acquaintances to feel worthy. To feel wanted. To feel needed. But ironically, it always feels hollow. Someone recently asked me what would make me happy, and truthfully, the misanthrope in me can’t remember a season where I was content for more than a moment.
The church tells me to find my identity in Jesus. The secular humanists want me to find value in just being a good person. The confused naturalist in me thinks it’s all dust in the end, either way, so why worry about any of it at all?
If I’m happy, do I stop being hungry? Do I stop using this emptiness as artistic fuel? Will I stop making progress? Maybe I’m afraid that my only gifts are the result of tragedy. Perhaps happiness would dry the well of inspiration. I’d rather create from the place I’m familiar than risk being normal with a suburban smile. Is this progress, or madness? I guess time will tell.
When is enough enough? Do you wrestle with that too, or is it just me? There’s value in celebrating a moment, but I think I’m always afraid of being found out as a fraud. All these years of faking it to make it have left me watching over my shoulder for the “experts” to come around and say, “hey! This dude is a fake.”
I’m still waiting to be called out for my circuitous journey to whatever level of success I’ve achieved so far. I hope it’s never not a grind. I never want to lose my grasp on how much I love creating and how dang hard it is to rise above the noise to share my work. I don’t take any of this for granted. No matter what I accomplish, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like I fit in; maybe that insecurity helps drive me to mine those wells of introspection. Again, who knows? I guess the awareness of all these things helps me to make forward momentum. Progress, right?
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Stan. All I can say after reading this is you be you. I know how passionate you are about your writing and your family. You have shown us that. Keep moving forward. As Neil Young said, it’s better to burn out than it is to rust. Love and Hugs!!
Meditate. Listen. Keep Grinding. ✌🏼