So that was the headline one some junk mail I received today. Felt kind of fitting considering all the thoughts that have been going round in my head lately.
So I've done all the life changing things this year. Split up with my boyfriend. Moved house. Got my social life back. Rediscovered myself. Quit my well paid but crappy job. Got a new job. Booked a ticket to America. Stepped out of my comfort zone at least once a month. Got back into the music scene. I could go on and bullet point them all but I won't. Not right now anyway.
So what else is there left to do? Well the year is already half over, and yet to me it feels like it's only just started. I guess this is a good thing, to be so optimistic.
One thing that was travelling through my mind yesterday was the whole 'monster of my own making' thing. A conversation I had with some former colleagues just unwillingly sprang into my mind. How I thought most artists, musicians, writers, poets etc etc were tortured souls. How their creativeness was an outlet for all those emotions stored up. Or that sometimes writing a world of fantasy was just a way to escape the real world. I don't know if that's what I truely believe but it has been a theory that's been stuck in my mind for a while. They seemed to think it was odd. Maybe it was. Or maybe I was just projecting myself onto situations again.
It's weird. I had a "normal" childhood, whatever that is. Well lets just say I had a happy childhood. My parents are still together and my siblings, as different as we all are, seem to be quite close. Or so everyone tells me. I guess we are just all naturally family orientated - growing up in a house full of all sorts of random people made us all club together I guess.
Anyway I could've done anything at school. I wasn't a genius or anything. More of an all rounder, but I was good at the stable subjects - Maths (which I loved and felt like a total geek for doing so), english and science. I hated Drama. But my passion was always music and art. I would have gone on to study music further, had I not engrossed myself in rock 'n' roll and completely misunderstood the importance of Amadeus's private life to his work. I got bored with theory and quite frankly, knew I wasn't good enough. And they always wondered why I played jazz so much...
Anyway so many were suprised when I chose to go to art college. Like it was a bolt out of the blue. That I'd never get a good job from it. And I guess part of me never knew where it came from either. Liked I'd a waved my finger over a prospectus and gone, yep, thats want I want to do, on the first course my finger touched.
Looking back the signs were always there. I had every craft kit you could imagine. I always drew out my bedroom on graph paper whenever I wanted to change it. And once I even found myself drawing scaled cross sections of things I'd made out of mechanno.
So where did this person come from? Why do I feel so confused about little things? Did all those years of painting create this tortured person I have become to love and yet sometimes loathe? There was certainly no event in my life to trigger it off. Not that I can recall anyway.
If I hadn't chosen music or art, it would certainly have been maths. I loved solving things. I even loved algebra for God's sake! What would have happened to me if I'd gone down that route? My whole life would be different...
So maybe was wrong. But painting with music blearing out of my headphones was always theraputic for me. And now I design for a living, it is somewhat a stress. But the need is still there.
I can't help but hope this is all building towards something.
