Here I start again, back to square one. My mission is to throw up all that troubles me into this piece of paper so that my creative juices can flow freely all day long. And of course there's the blogging part. WTF!? Should I be proud to present my third freaking blog to the world or ashamed that I might have won the most inconsistent blogger award of the decade? Not really sure on that...The important thing is to try...no I'm just kidding, it's not the important thing. If you're attempting to do something, you might as well try to be the best at it. Don't get me wrong, I AM a proud member of Generation Y, with a "what matters is trying not winning" type of world view; I just couldn't quite figure out yet how to love my failures as well as successes. I'm probably bullshitting. Sorry. What I meant was I am scared shitless of failure and I'm trying to disguise it under "I don't like it..." and I know many of you do too but let's keep focusing on me for another 10 minutes.
Is it because of fear of failure that I picked an easily acceptable line of work in society instead of what I was always meant to do? And by society, I really mean family and friends. Do you remember that riskier, sweeter path to the most devilish dreams that we all had for ourselves but our parents kept underlining security was above all? Yeah, that. When you're a kid, it's cute to want to be singer. But as soon as you're done with K-12, singing is not cute anymore or wanting to be a dancer is childish at most or painting can only mean you'll be a starving artist begging for change on the streets? WOW. With such imagination, your parents should have been artists, not you! Mine never said such things but I was still too scared. What the hell!? Not only do I not have any excuses for not doing what I wanted but also at the end of the day it seems like I'm the only one to blame for not doing it. I'm happy to take on that responsibility but at what cost? Disrupting the peaceful routine of the family I'm trying to build in an effort to fulfill my teenage dreams before I reach 30 ?! Maybe, yes. Am I brave enough to take on that responsibility? Fuck no, but I'm trying.
This thing that I'm doing here will last 12 weeks. I will write all this cry baby stuff everyday for 12 weeks straight and we will find out together at the end if I can succeed in figuring out what the hell it is I am meant to do in this life and if I actually have the guts to pursue it however challenging the road may be. If I ever slip, even for a day, please do e-slap me in the face and help me get back on track. Better yet, if you want to start trying with me, come along and we'll be cry babies together. Remember, all you have to do is write down 3 pages of whatever comes to mind everyday for 12 weeks. (and there's more but that's the tricky part and there's always a tricky part because this is real fucking life, not the inside of Alice's Rabbit Hole.)
Problem is I do not know if this is what I will always and forever want to do. Will I still be dying to write when I'm 40? Or better yet, why am I questioning what will or will not happen 15 years from now (OK, 12 years. Jesus!) Forget 40! Forget 30 even! There should only be today. To - day (Although 29 is my lucky number so I have serious expectations from next year, just so you know). I mean if someone told me at 18 that I would be living on the Upper West Side of New York City as a married woman with a husband and a tiger -in the form of a cat- in our tiny but tasty (please!) apartment with 2 bedrooms, I would have thought s/he was high. Or that I was high for that matter. If that same person told me I would make my living from finance and not literature, I would have been convinced this time that I am definitely high.
It would have probably sounded beyond boring to 18-year old Dee because her absolute rule was to never work at a 9 to 5 job, right...To never have to sit at a desk in an office for 5 days/week. Well, isn't it ironic...Don't you think?..That is EXACTLY what I'm doing, except I can never leave at 5pm; more like 8pm...So yes, I changed, my expectations from life, the idea of life being limitless, people around me, ideas in and around my head, my city, almost everything in my life changed since I was 18, except for one thing, which is now my constant. The urge to write is still here with me. That alone is good enough of a reason to try The Artist's Way.
Let's get one thing straight about this workshop by the way. It won't always and only be about 3 pages of daily "Oh my God I don't know who I am anymore" shit. There's this exciting part of it called The Artist Date, where I will go on solo dates with myself - or my inner artist rather. And since this is one the best cities on the planet when it comes to arts and creativity, I will soon start telling you all about all the interesting and unique exhibitions at world famous museums or about the very exclusive performance of this unique, indie rock band, the lead singer of which will of course be playing a giant African horn/pipe. I know he will be playing that because there's this cool white guy, who comes to Times Square station every so often to play it on the subway and absolutely mesmerizes everyone around him. We are of course mesmerized by the sounds and saliva that find its way out of that giant horn. That guy was in fact my inspiration for a crazy New York artistic example. So there, I'm dedicating today's 3 pages to you, Mr. Very White guy, who plays the giant African horn on the subway to make godly sounds and saliva. If only I had a photo of you but I don't. Here's a photo that shows what you play. This is the kind of extreme that will dominate my artist dates. Love, love my dates, and writing, and New York, and all of the above.