Once upon a time I sat down and I thought to myself, I am gonna be important. Super-dee-duper important. But that was the end of the thought. I didn’t really make a plan or anything. I had the thought and I sort of left it there.
Which is precisely true, I would go back to the thought every once in a while and stroke it like a really great secret that meant a lot to me and it would help me get through some really terrible shit.
Then the thought got sort of heavy.
Not just heavy, but accusatory. But it was still just this fucking thought I had, just a fucking thought that nestled in the back of my head and had no real form and I would drag out sometimes to make me feel better, and now I was starting to use it to make myself feel worse.
Why wasn’t I this nebulous important yet? Why hadn’t I figured out or defined my plan? What kind of fucking moron was I to not have a plan and just have a safety blanket thought that was going nowhere?
Yeah, none of that is working for me anymore.
I’m not really interested in hurting myself with my grandiose ideas because they are grandiose and I haven’t achieved them. I’m also not really interested in having grandiose ideas that are so far out of reach that they are just comforting to have as ideas that I pretend will magically come true one day.
So I’m winging it. Not the brightest thought, but I’m winging it. First off, I am important. I mean I’m not a big brave soldier, and I’m not in congress, and I’m not changing the world, but I’m important. I’m important to my son, and I’m important to my friends, and I’m pretty sure that my cats would notice if I dropped dead – until they started eating me at least. I don’t have to be flighty on a pedestal important, I just have to look at my day to day and know that is enough, and work from there.
I’ll work on the other weird ass bullshit from there.