As of late, I’ve been going through some personal struggles and it is incredibly hard to write about. Not ‘hard’ in the sense that I don’t want to share my struggles, but ‘hard’ because I don’t know how to share my struggles. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Three weeks ago, I deleted the Instagram app off of my phone as a way to take a break from social media without even knowing if social media is the problem. I just needed to get out. Multiple friends have asked me “whyyyy?” “what’s wrong” “-sad face emoji x 3-’’ and I just tell them, “I’ll be fine. I'll figure it out. I always get through shit like this,” and I can’t even define this ‘shit.’
However, I did notice when I removed the app and the responsibility of marketing or promoting my blog, the use for my phone decreased extremely. My battery lasted longer so I had no need to charge it, and when I didn’t charge it, it died the next day, but I didn’t need it so I didn’t bother re-charging it, and when I went to plug it into the charger, I leave my phone there and completely forget about it. I’ve heard people call this kind 'disconnection', or let-go from the digital world, freedom. In all honesty, I was more bored then free, but that boredom led me to go outside (or inside) to water some seeds that were left untouched in the soil of my frantic brain.
These seeds are some ideas I’ve boiled up last year and now that I am no longer in school, I decided to take the step into my advantages and capabilities. However, taking new steps forward or doing things you’re not used to is pretty fucking terrifying, but as of recently, I learned that feelings are only on the inside and sometimes it’s best to ignore the feelings and take in everything on the outside. Even though I sound like a self-help text and appear as if I got my shit together, I promise you, I let my feelings, my internal self, take the best of me almost all the time. Is that my struggle?
A wonderful friend of mine met me for coffee last week and just like my other friends, she proceeded to ask me “what’s up” with my disengagement from the black mirror. I answered in vague ways but she got it. She knew what I meant and then brought something to my attention which I will paraphrase for you:
You make good food, you take great pictures, but your work does not represent who you are.
You are animated, alive, full of color. You are the funniest person I know. Yet your pictures are cold and recluse.
I know you are trying to take an artistic route but you need to show people who you are. You have no problem doing that in person. Why can’t you do that in your work?
She was right, but that wasn’t my problem. My problems were internal still, however her words helped me seek something I never sought before: color. I kid you not, I went and bought a bright red yoga mat. Color has not always been in my favor. Achromatic was my middle name. And if my wardrobe was not black or white or grey, it was neutrals and solids (with the exception of my red holiday coat that I've owned for nearly ten years). That's all on the outside though. My mind, my inside, however, was full of color, color that needed an out. But where to?
Oh, it'll come to me.
I'll figure it out.
Purify the colors, purify my mind,
And spread the ashes of the colors,
Over this heart of mine
[Arcade Fire - Neighborhoods #1 (Tunnels)]