Every now and then there are those times where I take a long look in the mirror and I rarely like what I see. This past Saturday I was exposed to the raw truth in myself, all facades cast aside; I am not a good actor. I was crestfallen by this sudden realization and all my usual counterpoints and lies I sell myself failed. There was no running from this truth.
Embarrassed and ashamed I wanted to run and hide. I couldn’t help but realize that I have wasted the past 3 and a half years of my life on a worthless enterprise. Embarrassed that I had sold myself on this ridiculous ruse that I could actually become something great—that I actually harbored something inside of me that was worthy to be seen. I was back to nothing. Squandering money and time towards a futile dream forged through deceitful tactics.
Who the fuck am I? A question I have no answer to.
What the fuck am I doing? The question I always come back to.
I am so stupid. I am a joke. I look at all these artists around me and the greats I aspire to and I am nothing. Not even a shadow lying amidst their gilded glow. There are times when I am humbled and those are great, but this is not a humbling moment. This is the moment of truth where you realize you don’t belong. I have sought endless validation and found bits and pieces where I could but it always eluded me and now I know why.
Albeit being on a path for constant need of validation does nothing but crush the passion and art in oneself. I do not think I have truly played for a year. I have wasted an entire year. I have no semblance of structure for this craft or art. I struggle incessantly with mediocre results that become my ‘breakthroughs’—which for anyone else would be calloused cold reads.
The twelves stages of grief and denial hit me hard. I made it through though and I accept the truth reflecting back at me. There was always the realist inside me who knew the truth, he was just overshadowed by dumb dreams. The first step towards the road to recovery is acceptance. I accept the artist I am, or well person I am: as I am not an artist. I am here to have fun and fail furtively.
This realization of the truth has been a blessing. I’ve needed this. Lying to myself was taxing. The heaping of pressure and expectation was too tiresome. I am free now. Free to play. Free to laugh. Free to fail. Free to be nothing but me. I am no artist. I am no genius. I am no actor. I am nothing.