During the break I give myself between studying psychology and working on my creative projects, I was reflecting on how much freedom I’m currently blessed with. My last post was about how perfectionism was haunting me and helping me again, and that felt good to share because it’s a matter of health that isn’t paid much attention to. It can be a very terrifying form of entrapment, especially because it’s an illusion. But today? There’s just freedom. I can breathe between my studies and my work without rushing to satisfy someone else’s schedule. I can alter my calendar and make plans for my study sessions without forcing myself to cram information or blow something off and hope luck will be on my side. There’s flexibility now and adaptability married with my responsibilities. I know the starving artist life doesn’t appeal to many and is often ridiculed if you’re not rich and famous. Who cares? I wish everyone could live a life without the starving and with more of the mindfulness and calm that comes with the artist mentality. The idealist, INFP that I am wishes more people could live the life they want and abandon the life others try to push upon them. We are capable of so much awesomeness when we aren’t forced to ignore the beauty around us. We’re capable of even more when we’re gifted with clarity, seeing what is and isn’t working for us. That’s a practice we have to chose to adopt, I suppose. Not everyone is as privileged as I am in this moment, so I’ll do my best to never complain about it.
In this breath, I am so humbled and light.
For what it’s worth, I hope you are well. It will get better.
Why must WordPress be so…the way it is? *sigh* Well, made some site changes. More to come… KL
In simple conversations with others, I mute myself unintentionally… …and it feels involuntary because I’m the type that wants to spill my heart’s contents. I just feel like when I’m around the majority of the people in my life, they have shown me what they really care or don’t care about through rejection, belittlement, invalidation, […]
I had not thought of violets late,The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feetIn wistful April days, when lovers mateAnd wander through the fields in raptures sweet.The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;And garish lights, and mincing little fopsAnd cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.So far from […]