I'm not really one for self-doubt. I make decisions; I deal with them and don't often second-guess. Things happen the way they happen. Maybe I believe in fate, or destiny, or even the hand of God (not so much the last one, actually). I make mistakes. That's okay too.
I'm a nervous person. I do worry about things - mostly things that I don't have as much control over as I want. Money. Work. When I was younger, the things other people said and did. I worry about the state of the world and how I'm supposed to fit in it. I worry that I'm going to plateau and die out, a lost breed.
One month from today I turn 25. And I'm slowly carving out a place for myself, eking out an existence that is, for now, difficult. Yes, I'm a freelancer. Yes, I'm broke. Yes, I rely on other people. No, I am not self-sufficient. I don't know many people my age who are, particularly those of us who are artists. I never thought this was something I had to apologize for.
I am not one for self-doubt but maybe now I am. Am I okay? I always thought that I was, for the large part. I'm moving forwards, aren't I? Is that not enough? I thought it was. Aren't I okay? Everyone has bumps and bruises and scars. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by mine but surely I'm not alone in that. Am I okay?
In two months I will have been in the city for a year. I am trying to build a life. I am very scared but I am still an optimist.
I suppose I am flabbergasted, then, by people, people who I care about and who care about me, who do not want to be part of this process - of my process. How hurtful, how diminishing, to be told they want no part in it, to try them again in a few years when I've stabilized. They want the end result and are not strong enough to be part of the journey. How sad. For them.
Love, I always believed, is supposed to endure such things, to fortify us against the doubt and the fear. Love makes us go out and slay the dragons. Love does not make cowards.
