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Life and Lists
Oct. 31st, 2003 09:24 am(I'm reminded of a BC cartoon where a doctor prescribes a long list of medications to a patient to help overcome his listless feelings...)
I made a two-day to-do list Tuesday. Ta da! Okay, it was actually Thursday, but that doesn't sound as good. I'm plowing through it which feels good. Other things don't feel so good.
I have been surfing feelings of panic and drowning for a while now. It takes a great deal of mental energy. And it's all the same old bullshit around putting my work out in public. And no matter how well I understand the psychological roots of this fear I can't seem to shake it.
The model goes something like this: my father always praised the hell out of me and basically let me know that as soon as the world saw how wonderfully talented I was, it would drop dead in its tracks and heap reward upon reward on me. As a nascent gay boy who knew (at whatever level) that he would someday disappoint his father to the core, I became terrified of the burden of this mythical success. Success would redeem me in his eyes, but it was obvious to me (if not to him) that it takes more than singing a song once in public to acheive "success". Those quotation marks are extremely important.
I have elevated this model to the level of life myth and perhaps it's all full of shit. In any case, I am struggling with the terror of putting out my music, my comics, whatever pure piece of me and having it either ignored or denegrated. I am counselling myself through this bullshit. I have things to put out and I want to do it. If 10 people notice and are moved, that is better than not doing it and having no one moved.
Snake is having a difficult time with my plans. He doesn't really understand my impulse to have an audience for my work. He thinks it's narcissistic. We had a long, frustrating walk last night and he finally said that he resents me having a plan to devote myself to while he feels that his life is nothing but a round of duties that prevent him from living the life he wants to. In other words, I'm living the life of a carefree dillentente and he's slaving away to support this.
A few more times around the block and we realized that this isn't true. I'm weighed down by responsibilities just like he is and a lot of them are to my little family here and I take them seriously. Furthermore, he does find time for the things are important to him. But he's forever fighting voices that were beaten into him as a boy that he's never working hard enough, that he should never stop and read a book while there's a wall that needs fresh paint or research to be done into career options and pension plans. He shouldn't go for a walk by himself with his own thoughts because Tutu spent too much time in the house and should be going out with him.
So, we're dealing. I'm dealing with the voices that tell me I'll "fail" (those quotation marks are extremely important) and he's dealing with the right to have his own happiness. There's a longer list of things to deal with, and maybe I'll write down that list, too, and check off items as they are resolved.
It might take longer to get through that one.
I made a two-day to-do list Tuesday. Ta da! Okay, it was actually Thursday, but that doesn't sound as good. I'm plowing through it which feels good. Other things don't feel so good.
I have been surfing feelings of panic and drowning for a while now. It takes a great deal of mental energy. And it's all the same old bullshit around putting my work out in public. And no matter how well I understand the psychological roots of this fear I can't seem to shake it.
The model goes something like this: my father always praised the hell out of me and basically let me know that as soon as the world saw how wonderfully talented I was, it would drop dead in its tracks and heap reward upon reward on me. As a nascent gay boy who knew (at whatever level) that he would someday disappoint his father to the core, I became terrified of the burden of this mythical success. Success would redeem me in his eyes, but it was obvious to me (if not to him) that it takes more than singing a song once in public to acheive "success". Those quotation marks are extremely important.
I have elevated this model to the level of life myth and perhaps it's all full of shit. In any case, I am struggling with the terror of putting out my music, my comics, whatever pure piece of me and having it either ignored or denegrated. I am counselling myself through this bullshit. I have things to put out and I want to do it. If 10 people notice and are moved, that is better than not doing it and having no one moved.
Snake is having a difficult time with my plans. He doesn't really understand my impulse to have an audience for my work. He thinks it's narcissistic. We had a long, frustrating walk last night and he finally said that he resents me having a plan to devote myself to while he feels that his life is nothing but a round of duties that prevent him from living the life he wants to. In other words, I'm living the life of a carefree dillentente and he's slaving away to support this.
A few more times around the block and we realized that this isn't true. I'm weighed down by responsibilities just like he is and a lot of them are to my little family here and I take them seriously. Furthermore, he does find time for the things are important to him. But he's forever fighting voices that were beaten into him as a boy that he's never working hard enough, that he should never stop and read a book while there's a wall that needs fresh paint or research to be done into career options and pension plans. He shouldn't go for a walk by himself with his own thoughts because Tutu spent too much time in the house and should be going out with him.
So, we're dealing. I'm dealing with the voices that tell me I'll "fail" (those quotation marks are extremely important) and he's dealing with the right to have his own happiness. There's a longer list of things to deal with, and maybe I'll write down that list, too, and check off items as they are resolved.
It might take longer to get through that one.
