April 21, 2024 – *doing*

The inspiration for today’s post is Thinking A Lot. Not thoughtful thinking where you would come up with the solution you’ve been looking for in a painting or even thoughtful in the way that you know that you’ve got plans to get coffee with a friend next week. Rumination is the best word for the phenomenon. It’s Thinking A Lot in its most inactive and ineffective form.

I have spent the majority of my life thinking about, pondering, and then thinking about situations that are both fictitious and set in reality. Though this has largely been detrimental to my overall well-being and socioeconomic life, there are certain positives to the constant critiquing of every event in my life, and it is bad practice to concentrate only on negative aspects of a topic. I have had the opportunity to have been called things like “self-aware,” and I am often complimented on my social ability. I enjoy intense bodily sensations that coincide with the emotions that I felt during the memories I am thinking about and I can smell and taste especially pleasurable and nostalgic memories. That’s really it for the positives that I can see right now, though. It isn’t good to focus only on the negative aspects of the self, and it is not good to pretend that certain experiences are better or worse than they really are.

I titled this blog post *doing* because I had been sitting frustrated about the fact that I haven’t managed to finish a painting in a really long time, which reminds me that I just don’t make art the way that I used to, which made me realize a connection to my inability to finish almost anything in life. I am not, and historically haven’t been, an artist that finishes their work. This is also true for my involvement in the art community. ( Though it would be a lie if I said that I haven’t tried a few times to establish myself among a group of like-minded artists.)

Because I just finished a 4-hour stint of studies followed by some fun personal character work, I think that a large component of my inaction is that when I feel challenged, I abuse myself instead of grow. While I enjoyed that session, I found my mind wandering to very uncomfortable places that were, unfortunately, very familiar to me. The difference I enjoyed today was the fact that I had a sort of goal in mind at first with the studies, and then found myself able to bully myself back using an extremely valid “I’m unwinding after a study session” excuse. The ability to bully me back came with the ability to reflect on that moment and recognize the way in which I hurt myself, too. Using a relatively innocuous feeling like being challenged as a tool to hurt myself aligns very well with my character’s canon, and nobody is surprised in the slightest. You will find the fact that the first experiences that come to mind when I reflect on this emotion and subsequent reaction are set in my childhood will surprise nobody either. There are many challenges in a child’s life that cover a wide range of importance, and most of mine were imbued with turmoil. The days leading up to tests, quizzes, licenses, and events were terrifying to me. I knew that I wasn’t going to do well or that something was going to happen, and I was going to be treated to rage and violence because this had become a pattern I could count on from a very young age. I don’t remember when exactly I got bad at school, but I think it stereotypically aligns with the year or years my parents split up. I began struggling with school, and my father couldn’t figure out how to help me or cope with his own lack of ability to teach, so he reacted to the situation in the only way he knew how. There were moments in which I performed pretty well academically, I still qualified to participate in advanced-level courses in high school, but I came to find out achievements did not matter in the way I had been told they would as my dad was not around often and when he was he did not care that much about his children. Because I learned that everything I did was met with rage, I gave up. But not entirely. I still want to make stuff. I have always wanted to be an artist, find my expressive voice, and be out in the world PROUD of who I am. So I start stuff. I start a new account. A new gig. A new painting. A new thing. I never, ever, finish it though.

I want to end this with a reminder that there is immense power in recognizing patterns in your behavior, and taking the time to process them is an incredible act of self-love. I love that I have been connected to this sense of wanting to Be and have worked hard to try and be a part of a community that I want to be a part of and do the things I love despite being raised to believe that I should be doing otherwise. When I sit down to make my next study or artwork, I am going to encounter those aggressive thoughts with understanding and love instead of fear. I deserve to meet every side of myself with the supreme gentleness that I crave from the world.