Brain Vomit?
I am not a consistent person. I have never been, by a long shot. This blog (if you can call it one) is an example of that. I like writing, and I do keep telling myself and people around me I need to find a way to get back into it consistently more often than I can count. I did not start this project with a lot on my mind, but at the same time I had very hyper specific expectations of what it might look like. And given that is not the case, it is only natural I would be disappointed — guilty even.
Guilty of an affliction that has plagued me since I could feel myself being a conscious, breathing parcel of flesh, bones and a sizeable amount of self-image issues.
I don’t have much to say — well, that’s a lie. I have a lot to say, so much that I can’t even comprehend where to start. So I suppose I might as well just talk about what I have been up to.
I am at the airport, on my way to Italy. For an internship in hopes that it grows into something more…well more than an internship at least. Being the embodiment of self-doubt in a bipedal approximation of a human being that I am, you would have to look hard for a moment when I am not plagued with imposter syndrome. Looking at a mirror I do not see myself (whatever that maybe) or a person, I see a combination of failures, lost opportunities, and missed potentials. But for long, I thought it was just me (and those who are initiated into my mysteries) who saw this grotesque sludge of hopelessness.
But someone else recently got a peak into it.
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It was a small conversation. A very common part of general lab work and research. But for some reason it physically hurt me…not in a way that I can necessarily characterise as familiar. He saw me, my insecurities, my doubts and fears. I do not know how. But he did.
I am tempted to think that it was another person added to the long line of individuals I have let down. But, for once, I do not want that to be true. Maybe its because I still have almost a year’s worth of time left. Or maybe, for the first time in a long time, I genuinely want to try and fail…even if its just small insignificant conversations about data analysis.
Despite being thoroughly flustered and ashamed at my inability to discuss the most basic of things, I am not sure he was disappointed in me? As I said, I do not want to think he was, or is. Because once I convince myself of that, there will be another addition to the ever growing list of my unfinished experiments.
For once, I want to finish what I started, and attempt at something that can vaguely be ascribed to the feeling of pride.
I do not what to make of this. I do not know how to reconcile with this new faith(?) in myself. I am scared. But also excited. This is a confusing sentiment — but a new one.
Yesterday, I was out on a walk with my girlfriend and I told her that I am creature of habit. I am scared of trying things that are new. That is the one consistent thing about me. I look for comfort of familiarity where ever I go.
But maybe, for once, I can give this new conviction a shot.
