I Keep Missing the Point of Being Creative

Photo by Neven Krcmarek on Unsplash

I visualized my goals and sent them into the Universe and was bitten in the ass for my troubles.

I missed the point, once again.

Last night, as rumors of a third lockdown in France are making rounds in the voices of passersby talking into their AirPods, I was waxing depressive at my best friend and free therapist on the other side of the pond.

It’s always the same complaint too. I’m surprised she hasn’t told me to go take a non-specific walk down a dubiously lengthy pier while staring at my phone. See, I continue to have the same problem as past me had for years:

I want to do the work, but I also cannot get off the couch.

The greatest part of this is beating myself up for not doing the work as a treat. It’s a vicious circle. Want to do the thing, does not do the thing, beats self up over not doing the thing.

So she, this friend (keep up), asked me a question I’ve heard a thousand times before: What is your honest actual hope? What does that picture look like in your mind?

The picture she was referring to was of who I’d be if I could, in fact, do the work I want to do.

And I replied like I usually do, having missed the point for years. I said I want to have a best seller, I want to write a hit…