Supermarket Blues
My habit of comparing myself to others is a stubborn one. Though I think that we are more likely to resort to comparing ourselves when we feel insecure, as though our brain is scanning the area for existential threats - including rival humans who may beat us, steal our food and leave us for dead. I may have a working theory as to why it pops up but it's still annoying at best and damaging to my mental health at best.
Yesterday is a good example: despite practicing and doing much of what I set out to accomplish I feel like I didn't do much at all. Did I practice bass? Yep. Piano? Check. Singing? You got it. Did I write another 500 words of my novel? Yes, sir. All that while also walking for 90 minutes, cooking, cleaning up and grocery shopping.
Yet I focus on what I didn't do (songwriting) what I could've done better (let's say my writing was not of the highest quality) and what could I have done more. Self compassion only goes so far when you realise that you essentially wasted around four or five hours playing a game , watching videos and distracting yourself.
The simple truth is that I could have done more but didn't. Is it because I'm lazy? No, I do not believe so. It's because of a difficulty I'm having with the creative process. It's almost like I'm scared of engaging it. I procrastinated from writing for a long time and when I did get around to it, it was a slog. Despite reaching my quantitative 500 word goal I certainly did not reach my qualitative goal of writing something I'm proud of.
I tell myself that a first draft is meant to suck. It'll need rewritiíng and polishing, fifty times over. All I'm doing is planting a seed that will flourish and bear fruit with enough care and attention. I remind myself of this and it helps, but only a little - not enough to face the music.
This culminated in an odd and sudden sensation of insecurity at the supermarket. I felt like a small child wanting his mommy. I wasn't quite scared, but I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I couldn't wait to comfort myself. So I visited my parents and I ate some sweets as per protocol.
I know these feelings of insecurity seek to protect me and shut out anything which does not feel safe. They are well meaning and intended to keep me safe: better to be safe and not productive than self-actualise your way into danger. The side effect is a greatly diminished capacity to connect with other expressive and playful parts of me and with beauty in the world. Every evidence of talent out in the outer world is interpreted as evidence of a lack of talent in the inner one.
I recognise this experience for what it is: an experience. I can learn from it - if nothing else I'm slowly developing my awareness of my relationship with the creative process. I'm engaging in a dialogue with this protective part of me and thus becoming more "whole". I do wish things would proceed smoothly, but alas, to expect that to be the case is naïve. Growth is good, but it certainly isn’t comfortable.
