[Freewrite] White Lies & Desperate Promises

When I joined @utopian-io last year, I told myself it was a perfect decision - an amazingly inspiring organization to work in while continuing to publish on the Steem blockchain.

That was a (white) lie I told myself, and this wasn't the first time.

Being the workaholic that I am, I quickly gave up everything in favor or Utopian and dedicated all my time to finding ways to promote the project that inspired me. Just like with previous such "work crushes", my Steem blog was among the firsts to suffer, along with my social life, my novel, and other aspects in my being sacrificed for the utopian dream. My posts became shorter and further apart, with little to no original content I can be truly proud of. On Facebook, friends have messaged me to ask where I've gone to.

I think I need to recalculate my route. In fact, I am promising myself I will.

Illustration: Succulent I managed to propagate in a particularly adorable tiny kitty planter

Not that there's anything wrong with working yourself to the bone for a noble goal. Dedication is a virtue. It's just that too many important things get demoted in importance in this tunnel vision I've adopted yet again. It's like a particularly intense relationship for me. Sure, it feels amazing to give your all, but often what you are left with, at the end of the day, is a hollow shell devoid of creativity and vitality staring back at you from the mirror.

It's almost funny when I think of it. The polyamore that I am, claiming it is unfair to expect any one person to satisfy all your needs, found myself dedicating so much attention to the one thing that demands it.

I can spend the rest of the post complaining and making excuses for how I am repeating past mistakes, or I can mark some points on this new route I am taking to avoid driving myself off a metaphorical cliff. Some are far destinations, miles of work away, while others are really just right off the path.

Yes, I am having that kind of, well, couple of months?

Go back to writing

Work writing is not writing. It doesn't fuel my imagination, it doesn't burn in me to be written, and though it (sometimes) pays the bills, it doesn't satisfy my need to make art from words. So it's about bloody time I picked up my novel, and got back to writing. If that destination seems unreachable, even a short story or poem are better than nothing.

Publish anything

With my thousands of followers on various social media channels, including Steem, it's really a waste I stay so quiet. And it's not like I don't have anything to say. My winter balcony garden is doing great, my adventures in woodworking continue (and I have yet to lose any digits!), and there's no shortage of interesting content out there that I have commentary on.

Even if the muse to write isn't cooperating, there's no shortage of media to express oneself - from video, to sketches, to photographs and even audio content (no, I am not going to sing - don't worry). I just need to stop looking at everything I do and deciding it's not worth the time it takes to share.

Pink the Unpinkable

Never the optimist, always the optimizer, I feel I need to focus more on listening to my energies, rather than trying to utilize and push them to reach that one goal I've set for myself. Perhaps rekindling a social life would help, perhaps getting into better shape or improving my nutrition. Whatever it is, I will probably find as I seek out some spark to light my way out of the tunnel vision I've trapped myself in. A spark I desperately miss.

Will I succeed?

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