an ocean heart

I wish my printer would work so that I could carry out a few ideas of mine, at least that if nothing else. I mean, I’m not doing much lately. I don’t want to go out or take photos or paint and I don’t even want to write. I read every day but that has nothing to do with those things. Most things are always connected to accomplishing something, except for reading. Reading is just reading and I can read a book just as slowly or quickly as I want and it’s not about accomplishing something, not even about finishing a book. To me, reading is a pure joy with no obligation at all. It’s amongst those rare pure joys of mine. Everything else, on the other hand, has always something to do with accomplishment and obligation. I am a perfectionist after all. Sure, I can enjoy taking photos but in the end I can’t take photos without feeling obliged to succeed, at least I can’t do that without feeling disappointed in myself afterwards. It’s the same with painting and writing too. Perhaps it’s not as bad with writing, though, ‘cause I’ve accepted myself as a writer and that as a writer I’m merely expressing myself through words and it has nothing to do with creating something great and everything to do with me, the whole of me. I think if I were to write just to create something great the whole idea of writing would be absolutely insignificant. I mean, I think writing is all about people, all there is to us, from the shallows of our skin to the depths of our soul, everything in between, the whole being of a person being poured out through words. And if you write something just to write something great you are not writing with your whole being and you’re not writing as a human being but quite something else. I don’t know though if I’m only being idealistic. But I don’t think a person who writes just to write something great and who doesn’t write with their whole being is not a writer at all. The whole beauty of literature is people. Anyway, I don’t know how it lead to me explaining what writing is to me. Nevertheless, there was a point I was trying get across. I can rarely do things without feeling obliged to succeed. Whatever I do I must succeed haunts my every act. You have no idea how it makes me feel to be in the situation I am with my life at the moment. I’m not succeeded in anything at all and I’m not doing anything great, not even living at least somehow. I just am and that’s about it. It’s eating me away a little by little. I don’t want to disappoint, myself nor anyone else. But I’m trying, nevertheless, to be happy and enjoy life. Lately, I’ve been feeling great even though I haven’t been doing much. I’m not ought to succeed every single second of my life. I’m not a failure even though I don’t succeed but merely live my life without doing much. It’s okay to be nothing much and to do nothing much. It’s perfectly okay to enjoy living the life of a nobody. It feels great to be a nobody. I don’t have to do my best, at least not all the time. Frankly, I think it would be just fine if I were to live my whole life as a nobody. As long as I’m happy.

(just some thoughts)