Pride and Passion
I have always found passion to be embarrassing—that is, at least, when it is my own. Despite affirmation and encouragement from others, going out on a limb in pursuit of an artistic goal is terrifying; someone’s success in the field is more or less dependent on public reaction and societal impact, which makes the whole process rather ambiguous.
My chosen medium of writing seems to have more leeway than, say, an abstract painting does, but nonetheless I find myself wondering whether my message is clear or if it was taken the way I intended. Though, even before the whole “impact” idea comes into frame, I find myself spiraling over the simple truth that people see it, or know it exists. What is so unnerving about being creatively ambitious and having other people perceive it?
Recently, I had a friend confirm these fears. Someone she knew questioned (and seemingly judged) my motives to start this blog, asking her why “girls think everything they say should be posted on the Internet.” Initially, I was frustrated with his apparent closed-mindedness and possible misogyny. As I began to justify myself, rather than feeling secure in my appropriate yet witty comebacks, what ensued was doubt. Maybe what I have to say doesn’t matter to anyone, and maybe, I’m making a fool of myself for thinking it does.
The only way I could absolve myself of shame was to write off this work as valuable for my future career. To appear normal in a sea of apathetic business students was to act like my passion project was more of a portfolio—one that could be used for job applications in corporate communication or whatever else, despite my unprofessional mention of drugs and alcohol.
This crutch was a means to conform, which felt rather contradictory to my goals; writers are supposed to face uncomfortable truths and propose perplexing or even unsettling ideas. Criticism is also crucial to the writing process, so if I can’t take it, I must not be cut out for it.
I also thought it was worth examining why I let his words affect me the way they did. This, after all, was coming from someone whose career aspirations also involved contributing to mass media through a somewhat creative mode. I concluded that he is either insecure in his own passions, doesn’t feel qualified himself, or, he simply doesn’t understand what his field entails. Whatever the case, it sounds like it had less to do with me and my blog than I originally thought. Chances are, he didn’t even read it—instead, he saw that I took a leap of faith and resented me for doing what he couldn’t. But, even after recognizing the projection that occurred in this instance, why do the effects of his words linger? Did they hit too close to home?
Whether or not I tend to admit it, I am judgmental. I choose to think it’s because I am hard on myself, having unattainable standards and being wildly disappointed upon slight failure. These standards have made me fragile; as soon as someone else acknowledges my shortcomings, my ego is shattered. In these instances, my high expectations transcend personal and become universal, and I no longer feel qualified. The blog hyperlink once again gets removed from my Instagram bio and I wished I had never allowed it to be in the public eye. Despite these feelings of incompetence, ironically, I also feel like an expert in my field; I harshly evaluate others who don’t meet my criteria for things. This fragility that I diagnosed my critic with diseases me, too. It seems we both throw stones while living in glass castles.
As I live to tell the tale of my lack of artistic confidence, I am slowly re-siding my glass castle with wooden clapboard. I am also realizing the exhaustion of hurling stones from my windows, and how it is truly much more peaceful to let things be. It might not happen instantly; I will likely oscillate between wanting to publicize my work and keep it in hidden archives. But, in awakening to the source of most judgment, I remember how arbitrary it tends to be. If anything, art inspires, and if my work led someone to judge, all it means is that I set them upon the journey of self-discovery and, hopefully, security.