As I sit here, in our ‘dump-and-run’ sunroom with the midday light pouring in, surrounded by camping gear, a table filled with scraps of art, and tubs of dog kibble, I ponder the absolute absurdity of this world. Of this life, of this day, of this moment in time, and I consider it a rather daring adventure that I am here in one piece, cognitive enough to witness, experience, and try to understand it. On the contrary, I do not care for its constant unfolding of questionable moments and people that cross my path. Often, I do not care for very much of it at all. But that doesn’t mean I don’t find it fascinating, marvellous, and compelling all at once.
At present, I am particularly hooked on the messy habit I seem to have of desiring something and, as soon as it is achieved, the pang of nostalgia that ripples through me at the speed of lightning. Even if it is something I desired so desperately, placing my emotional health in a state of upheaval, I immediately turn around and sulk for the time I tried to claw my way out of as soon as my mitts are wrapped around the shiny thing I wanted. Somehow, in the acquiring of my desire, I feel a sadness because I can never be without it again. That having gained, I too have lost.
I felt that exact ripple travel through me as I surpassed the two-digit subscriber mark a couple of days ago and now float at the low end of three. A win! A delightfully exciting welcome win, for this means more want to read my work, more want to engage, more feel a connectedness to my words than ever before, and yet I notice myself try to hold my breath and clench the muscles in my shoulders, terrified that this means things are bound to change despite not wanting them to. That somehow having more eyes on my work means I will stray from what I started doing and why in the first place.
Though I know things will change, they’re bound to; I know that what I can control needn’t, if I don’t want it to. I know that I began sharing my work so that when I am no longer in my body able to write and express the ocean within, I will feel a peace I have never known because I did all I ever wanted to do regardless of any outcome. I came to appreciate that the void I’ve been yelling into could be empty forever, but like change, just because it is one day doesn’t mean it will be the next — now I have all of you to yell at! And maybe that’s where the discomfort arises, because I grew comfortable with my little circle of familiar faces, comfortable with knowing that this might be the pinnacle, might be as full as my table gets, and you’ve now proven otherwise.
I’ve wanted to commit to my craft for more time than I’d care to admit, so whilst I am adjusting to the change of being seen for once, I realise too that we’re only just getting started.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for 100 readers.
Thank you.
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