Writing About Writing

I’m not sure if what I'm about to write is _read-worthy_. I can think of people who might argue that that anything that someone thinks up and records in text is worth reading but I haven’t come across one yet.

I am writing now because I haven't in a while and I have been meaning to. I write for the sake of writing more than to make a point. What I write tends to end up on my blog because that is how it had always been.

I used to do this with intent a few years ago. I believe that what I think up and record in text should be recorded somewhere where someone might find it at some point and think, ‘Wow, people did take themselves too seriously.’

My therapist thinks that I should write more often, probably because I tell her that it's therapeutic. Many think that the world is at its selfish worst, and that people do things to make themselves better. Going by that logic, my therapist shouldn't be advising me about how to get better without her getting paid.

Yet she does. So does my shrink. Both seem measured, level-headed, well-intending people trying to do their jobs. They earn money in return of taking care of others with psychological troubles. I was supposed to do the same in a more physical manner, but I instead decided to pursue my artistic/creative side twelve years ago.

I write because I feel good when I do. To be more precise, I feel better _after_ I finish writing. I feel like I have accomplished something. Everyone is trying to accomplish something or the other, which involves keeping themselves busy and labelling themselves productive.

I like to think that I’m being busy and productive. When I started typing this, I had two content streams assaulting me. A live cricket match on the TV and a on-demand mixed martial arts event on a screen above the one that I’m typing into.

I was hardly paying any attention to the cricket match, mostly because I could rewind it if I realised that I missed seeing something exciting. Mixed martial arts is the perfect blend of athletic artistry and primeval violence, and the event I was streaming was something that I had wanted to watch.

It was difficult to focus on what I wanted to write or whether I wanted to write at all. It would have been either writing or reading, but writing is what I felt like I haven’t done enough.

So I continued writing. It's a pretty easy way to feel as if you have done something worthwhile without caring about the actual worth of the thing you did or the time you spent doing it.

I have anxiety probably because I do many things at at time. Yet I am forced to because I feel like I haven't done enough. The cause is the effect is the cause.

I feel the need for people to tell me that I did well. My life feels like a constant battle to prove to everyone that I’m worth existing. I guess I’m chasing my own legacy.

Legacy is something that gets built over the course of someone’s life without them having a say in whether they want one. The foundation is laid before you know what it is. Then you spend the rest of your life building on it in an effort to save yourself the embarrassment of leaving it unfinished.

Foundations left unattended eventually become pretty when the elements take over, but the people who tried but failed to build on them won’t live long enough to see the cosmetic makeover of the thing that symbolizes their failures.