“…One day, we’ll all have to face ourselves, and it will feel exactly like the end of the breakfast club.”
Journal: Make Me Proud
When: October 2015, multiple days
Where: Somewhere between psychotic and iconic
Ever since I was a kid I’ve always been a little bit different. Not different in the sense of how I looked, or what I did, but “different” in the way that I thought about things, and the things I valued – in fact, it wasn’t until very recently that I started meeting people who I felt like reciprocated these thoughts and values. Amongst various other things, creativity has always been something I valued. Before I ever dreamed of being a creator of media, or noticed that I was even doing it, I looked up to those with the minds powerful enough to create breathtaking content, while brave enough to put it out there for everyone to enjoy; ASAP Yams was a god. Sometime soon after the demise of my less than dazzling high-school athletic career ( “I would’ve made the NBA… if I was 6 foot 18, didn’t jam my finger that one time, and actually had some skill”) I was tossed into the tumble-dry cycle rightfully called “making sh*t”. The worst thing about this creative cycle though, is that the hard work and minor success also run directly parallel to the misfortunes that are lack of motivation, and eventually moving the fuck on.
Over the last 5 years or so I’ve dabbled in video production, photo editing, visual art, and most recently writing. Each, up until now, beginning as a minor hobby based on the awe I spoke of earlier, and eventually evolving into me honing my skills and finding a new way to express myself in ways never before possible, allowing myself to open up a little more each time. After reaching the height of what seems to be achievable success, I usually end up losing motivation, and slowly moving on to the next outlet. This wouldn’t be such a problem if time – the only true absolute – weren’t a reality, and wasn’t running out. Yet here I am. Another funk. At the time of writing this post, it has been more than 15 days since my last post, my longest break in the last 9 months.
Funk – Noun – the state of unlegitness. Feeling fuckwitable, as opposed to unfuckwitable. May contain roots of, but not limited to: aimless life wandering, creative blocks, and self-pity. The opposite of when ‘Ye said “you can’t tell me nothin'”
The root of all funks? Feeling under-appreciated, over-worked, and misunderstood. And in a world where it feels like only 5% of anyone else actually understands you it’s quite easy to feel this way. Of course, there is always your family and your friends, who support you and kind of pretend to fuck with what you produce, even if its not really aligned with their own personal agendas. These people are amazing. They keep a creative mind sane and up to date, in a world that we don’t quite fit in too. These are also most likely the same people who haven’t yet realized how much of a trade-off this actually is, and how bland life could be without us weirdos, as well as how hard it really is to be a content creator. Unfortunately, in my case, this creates the perpetual feeling of “unappreciation”. As an only-child to a single-parent (and don’t get me wrong, my mother gave me to greatest life, and the is reason I work hard is so that she can work a little less), I’ve gotten used to creating self-worth, so this usually hasn’t been a real issue. Self-worth, like any success based scheme, relies on a sense of accomplishment. Recently though, I’ve had trouble creating this feeling of self-worth in my life. For the first time in a long time, I find myself mentally and physically drained; empty. Waking up every morning feels exactly like the movie “Groundhog Day”, if you’ve ever seen it. You know that feeling that you’re about to step into the same exact boring, shitty, underwhelming circumstances you figured would disappear by the morning? Yea, kind of like that. Proud of where I am and how far I’ve made it, always, but not truly accomplished. A perfect dystopia, in a time in life where we’ve almost all realized that the utopia probably doesn’t exist.
(You could say I’m still fairly new to this whole “writing” thing, but one thing I’ve noticed is that it’s become a taboo thing to write about how you are currently feeling. A no-no. Even when trying to figure out how to go about producing this entry I struggled with deciding whether to take the easy way out and write this all in the much more socially accepted past-tense, or keep it honest and real. The writing block seems to have finally passed, to the point where I’m not going to bother taking the time to edit my thoughts or even save my work)
Amusingly, the reality for most of us is that life really isn’t as terrible as any of us make it sound, as terrible as I’m making it sound.
Working hard keeps me busy and distracted as I transition into what I imagine responsible adulthood feels like. I’m taking 5 classes while getting the best grades I’ve ever gotten (never been a great student, just ask my sub 3 GPA), leading a team and running a business, working a part-time job trying to make rent, and participating in extracurricular intramurals, all on top of trying to maintain a social life consisting of liquid courage and lots of Dominos Pizza. I would confidently say that the experiences I’ve gained in my 20th year of life, amass more than all 19 others combined, or at least that’s how it feels. Music has always been the one thing that I could turn to, and recently I’ve been reading more and more, becoming better learned in the thing that I love more than 99.9% of all animate objects (for those who would consider art inanimate… debatable of course). Writing professionally has become a goal of sorts, and I have the biggest entrepreneurial pitch of my young career later this week. A change of pace and scenery are well needed in the first year I can remember that seems to be far too similar to last, but I’m hanging in there, using spontaneous activities and random trips to keep me sane. Basically, I’m growing up. So as you can see, nothing is really wrong, but sometimes you’ve just got to stop and take a second to reflect on how things are going. The surface can be a confusing place.
These last few months, and days specifically, have taught me a few key, yet juxtaposing, sadboi lessons. I’ve learned to be proud of myself even when it feels like nobody else is, but I’ve also learned that everybody needs someone. Consider it to be a real life version of the curve-chronicles (an imaginary segment in my head where I re-visit all the times that people have fucked me over). I’ve learned that I’m still the same person that I’ve always been – a stubborn lover of creation and all feelings grotesque – but I’m completely changed in the same. Above all, I’ve learned that every once in a while, one day, we’ll all have to face ourselves, and it will feel exactly like the end of the breakfast club.
Sometimes you may feel like it’s time to hang it up, move on, and quit. A funk. At some time, it will be that time, for everything. One day, penning these intimate annotated open-letters will be just another thing that I used to do during just another time in my life, for whatever reason. Until then though, I have so many things to tell you.
Two words; One Love,
–Hospey, AKA Yung Questionable Life Choicez.