Nonsense

The thing is, I need to stop being afraid of failure. That is really what it is. I can't even begin writing because I'm so concerned with wanting it to sound perfect and curated. To be so eloquent and articulated becomes the goal over simply writing. It's this obsessive idea of perfection. Striving beyond myself before I have even really come to know myself. Building an identity rather than just being. Fixating on the external while trying to force and coerce the internal. That is the formula for fake in any creative endeavor. As soon as I begin trying from that place, there is only one result. Self-deceit and self-defeat. I suppose that is two. Anyways, I am going to fail a lot. I need to. There is no other way to any sort of success. Whether self-proclaimed or recognized. I need to get down to the nitty gritty, and sound terrible. I need to sound like I don't have a single clue about what I am talking about because I don't. I need to expose my naivete and false optimism in order to get to what is real. That is the formula. So if I am not ready to do that, and I am more concerned with taking the safe and tailored road, then I am in the wrong place. I have thought myself into the wrong goals. The life I idealize for myself is not going to happen. Trial and error baby; that is the game we play here in life. I can sit back and listen to podcasts and read books and watch interviews all I want, there is plenty of value there. But if I go no further to integrate my own experience and take my own chances there will not be much further to go. I need to be ready and willing to be bent and broken. I need to allow myself to drone on and on and on and more than likely bore the shit out of anyone who reads it to find some clarity. Because, it's not about who is reading it. If that's what I am hung up on, then again, I am not here for the right reasons. It doesn't matter if it is a gift to the world, it needs to be a gift to my own soul. That is the place I must write from if it is going to have any true value in my life. That is certainly not to mean that I cannot endeavor to go whichever direction I want with it. Perhaps I will end up writing a best-selling novel. Perhaps I will write eloquent articles that elucidate my intended points with sharpness. Perhaps I will go on tours and get on stages to speak and make an impact. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. There is no guarantee. There doesn't need to be. If I am solely focused on those outcomes, then it all becomes hollow. I become hollow. Thus my writing becomes hollow, or the complete lack thereof becomes apparent. It almost happened this morning... But alas, I am still here. Of course, rambling on in any given direction but perhaps that is the path! Allowing complete disorder and chaos to take the charge before I decide what to do with it. For, is not the word potential just a fancier term for chaos and disorder? No matter, it's what I do with it. Rambling seems to be my forte, so I suppose I'll just ramble away without shame or guilt for some time now until I can figure out what's really there.