I’ve been getting positive feedback from people regarding my blog, my thoughts. It’s nice to be at the receiving end of positive feedback because it gives me confidence that what I am putting out is somewhat valuable. But, there’s always a wrinkle in my optimism. I realize that the more I talk about my writing, the more aware I become that it is floating out into an ocean of other voices and thoughts. It is easy for it to be overshadowed, if not completely eclipsed, by more sophisticated leviathans.
I like writing because there’s a vulnerability, a nudity that comes with it. You can see spelling errors, weird sentence structure, and rambling paragraphs that veil their purpose. I feel safe in error and in not enough because it provides a space for growth and evolution. To think I’ve arrived at success is scary because that’s when the growth stops and the ego rushes in.
Back in October I went to a dinner party and later into the evening we started playing a card game, Liverpool. It was my first time playing but I managed to win 3 out of 5 rounds. I lost the first round because I didn’t know how to play, and I lost the last round because I knew how to play too well.
From the surface, winning a few games is a somewhat unremarkable event. Sinking deeper into the experience though, my brief tryst with victory revealed how seductive it could be. Victories in life are usually hard won, the product of struggle and persistence. This was a smooth and clean win, delivering addictive bumps of affirmation to my ego. By the 5th round my relationship to the game changed. I had gone from focusing on my strategy, to being anxiously preoccupied with acquiring another win, another bump of validation.
New York City is an emotionally complicated place to navigate. I’m surrounded by people who are smarter, wealthier, better looking, and more successful. It can feel a bit maddening to gaze into, especially since my own life has been pockmarked by false starts and dead ends. Even rejection while dating stings at a deeply existential level. In my darker and more insecure moments, I can’t help but wonder if my romantic interests could tell that the river of my life has run rancid at times.
I went to a July 4th party filled with very smart people and they liked the concept of the blog. It was nice to get that feedback, but like the card game, it also altered my relationship with writing. I felt this pressure to produce, or live up to an expectation. I know that sounds weird, like it’s just a party, but being dosed with approval is like crack for my institutionally forgotten and dismissed being. I’m realizing there is comfort I take in invisibility because my life can run its course, purely by its own accord, irrespective of how my reality responds. My irrelevance has become my emotional safety.
Title is a quote from the film Claire’s Knees (I haven’t seen it).
a soft death 