Post no. 2: After you jump, it’s not in your control anymore.
Since my last post I’ve been mostly wandering around the streets in my old hoodie. Trying to connect with something, anything, even if it’s just my past self. How does a merit-based scholar to #1 music school in the world convert to this? No wonder they are not writing articles about me in the alumni magazine.
Something has started to shift, but I haven’t been able to grasp it. It feels like a break up, but a break up with what? I guess I’ll know eventually.
For a long time I’ve felt like an outsider. Music hasn’t been flowing through me. Writing songs has meant ripping them off with force. Sure, let’s check what’s #1 on Spotify this week. I’m talented and I got all the tools.
I guess I just lost my belief in it somewhere along the way.
So as I’m wandering around the streets with songs in my ears, I feel it coming: after what has felt like a lifetime of numbness a wave of healing energy swipes through me.
I’m grateful.
And I’m jealous.
I’m grateful for the artists for their art. For making me feel, for making me heal. And I’m jealous for them, too. They seem so effortless though I very well know that’s not the full story. All these thoughts make me feel I’m an impostor. A joke. What am I even thinking? I should just come to my senses. Find a more realistic dream to follow. Grow up.
But this is growing up.
This 9-month process I’ve embarked on.
You cannot silence your inner voice. You can fight it, but you can’t silence it. The fight will go on, and on, and on, until you are so exhausted you’re unable to do anything. The fight will go on — until you surrender.
How do I know this?
I have another degree in world politics. I could be a long way towards a nice career on the international security policy sector. Just like my other friends.
Shit I am a failure.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
A failure.
Knowing this doesn’t make this any easier.
It makes this all make even less sense.
Why am I giving up so much for…this? For even what?
I just can’t silence the world in me. It’s impossible to explain, but I honestly have felt like I’m on a brink of madness. Fighting to be ordinary, trying not to be so full of ideas and emotions, denying my inner universes. I honestly thought everybody’s head was like this and I was just the only one so bad at keeping it in order.
I’ve been beating myself up for not getting my act up.
For being lazy. For being crazy.
For being selfish for listening to those voices.
For being naïve.
For not being more ordinary and focused.
For not doing things like everyone else is doing.
…for being what I am.
This feels like a break up because I am breaking up.
I’m breaking up with the story I’ve told myself.
I’m letting go.
I’m surrendering.
Falling free.
What a mess.
What. A. Freaking. Mess.
But this has to make sense somehow. As far as I understand anything about life, we are all born perfect in a way.
There is a reason for me to exist exactly as I am.
I just haven’t figured it out yet. And I don’t have a final answer how to deal with this — yet. But I’m on it.
I pass by my workspace without going in. A kind voice whispers, everything will come. That’s all I’ll have for now.
