Settle Down

Here's the thing,
I've fallen into that
tough spot when you're
supposed to follow your
own advice.
A principle
I think I live for,
but am having an unbearable time
applying to my own life.

When peopke express concern
over what they love in life
and if they should pursue it
because it makes them happy,
or if they should pursue
something more grounded,
I tell them always,
all of them
to do what they
love.

Being grounded
is not why we're alive.

Questing for happiness is.

So why am I so scared
by the proposition
of a creative writing major?

Why am I so reluctant to
admit that maybe
I'd love to go to an art school?

Why am I scared
to look into things
a little more,
dig deeper
and commit?

English is great.
But recently
I was enlightened
that yes,
I can major in creative writing.
Wow.
Heavy.

But there are such doubts
I have.

Am I good enough?
Do I have what it takes?
Am I talented enough
to handle it?
Do I have any talent at all?

The fundamental
problem of being a creative:
Self-doubt.

It's deadly and
yet it is the life-blood.

And this why I envy those who
like science and math
and tangible, literal things.

To be an artist to splay
yourself out
and invite the world
into your body to scathe
it and scold you.
and tear you apart.

Will I endeavor to be
all I wish?
Will I work to be who I am?

I am left unsure
and with many questions
that speak when
I am trying to sleep.

I am left with
the rest of my life
and the reckless freedom
it entails.

I am left
with an existential crisis,
as more and more
life is a continual
existential
question.
And nobody but me can
answer it.

But I haven't been able to,
not yet.