last summer was my death (in the face).
in theory, this summer sounded like it would be the time the rubber finally met the road. productive, engaging. i would work hard and be exhausted, but happy.
in practice, those things could still be true. but i am struggling to balance under the weight of this incredible bounty. in four days i move into my next living situation. high risk, high reward. and then it’s go time.
i just wanted to write and say that i’m terrified of what i’ve gotten myself into. everyone’s asked about my choices with a light tone and a cocked head, like, “i don’t mean to be rude, but – is that… humanly possible? are you not kidding yourself?” and, let’s be real, they’re probably right. i’m probably mucking up the math of what a single human can apply herself to in three months.
but i’m also really excited. and maybe i’ll have a day here and there where i’ll be unable to get out of bed for being so emotionally wrung dry, but i have given myself the gift of being positioned to finally embody all that i want to. there was a huge gap between how i was living, and how i wanted to live. now that i’ve closed that gap, i’m standing right in front of the lifestyle* i’ve been (very) vocally pining after for the last few years – and now i am charged with the task of getting what i want. who would’ve thought that manifesting the projections of what you desire would be so difficult?
*the concept of curating one’s lifestyle maybe seems wanky, but i promise it’s something we’ll talk about another time.
i try not to post too much about “things that are going to happen”, because most of the time that simply means “things that i’d like to see happen”. i make empty promises because it feels good, but i don’t always acquiesce that i’ll have to be the one to put the work in. i delegate to a future self that i don’t anticipate becoming. i write eloquently and masturbatorily about procrastinating instead of getting to the point.
i feel more comfortable writing this post because i’ve already done a chunk of the work. i read somewhere that you should make shit first and then tell people, which made me feel a sharp pang of defensiveness. obviously this strongly indicated i was guilty of crying wolf, time and again.
well, here you are. concrete evidence that i’ve done something. proof that i’ve been productive at least today. publishing. boom.