āļø ššš š¢šš šµš²š¼š½š®š·š²š·š°? š ššš-šš-šš-šš-šš-šš ā”
Contradiction is sort of a theme for me.
I support efforts in monetization. I've made my own. I've tried a pinterest/mania-inspired micro-business with a curated social media presence. I love the idea of working to pay for YOUR dream and not someone else's. I love creative economy. I understand that we all have our ways to rage against the machine or within it or to make peace or make bank or get those stacks on stacks on stacks.
In fact, if I'd have done a little examining sooner, I might have made a compelling story.
The internet also has a way of bringing me to scale. reminding me that in the blockbuster of life, I am but one independent, low-budget, too-much-of-a-closed room psycho thriller. If I have shame, hurt, lived moments... I need only a few moments in the algorithm to find it told back to me more beautifully...Someone who lost more weight or did the thing. Someone whose business didn't fail.Someone who became an expert instead of complaining...or suffering. Someone with a prettier voice or more agile guitar hands or a better grasp of the situation or more natural talent or motivation or discipline. Someone who could focus.
I briefly leaned far into my pathology... so enamored was I of this world where there were words for things I'd always felt or tried to explain...but that just meant more explaining. My 90's era diag-nonsense sounds more like acronym bingo... and now I can get lunchbreak links from my tween about executive dysfunction and binaries that simplify decades of untangling.
With this new spare time, I should be doing more with my hands. It's just hard to know where to start when I also don't feel very confident in my hands. If I could influence... well, it would be bigger than me. I'm not who you go to for answers. As of late, I'm mostly who you go to when you need ten different ways to phrase the question.
Which is all a very long way of saying that somehow, in spite of feeling a little too big and awkward and lumbering for this new internet... I also feel too small for it.
I don't know how to connect to another person who feels what I feel when with this sense I'm shouting down a hallway to you. A hallway where every door has opened simultaneously and another one of us appeared, also yelling their (sometimes bigger, more branded and strategized or just plain louder) version and theirs is more important or deserving of your ear. Their door probably has an answer. My door is just me. I don't know how to ever meet you when even I seem to drawn to those other doors.
I think I need friends.