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yvaquietdays · 5 years ago

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On giving up on all your unrealistic dreams.

There’s a rumour going around that I’m gonna give it all up.

The rumour is only in my head. But still.

Entirely expectedly at this time of year, I’ve been experiencing some introspective anxiety. Namely, noticing that when I think about my music, my anxiety starts peaking. Ugh, I know. So boring. The streams of panic, sending whirly moments of fear through my gut; I’m not good enough, I haven’t done enough, I don’t want��to do enough. If I don’t want to do enough, then I mustn’t want this. I’m going to escape, move to New Zealand, sell books. You see where I’m going with this. The slow, maddening, endless descent into spiralling negative thoughts. Let me just lie down.

Firstly, I have to be very careful that I don’t take my reluctance to do something as a sign from the universe that I’m on the wrong track. The universe, sometimes, doesn’t know shit about it. I put too much stock in the universe and all its power at the dawning of 2019 and look where that got me. Alright, all the way out to LA, but I came back, didn’t I? Quite clearly something (that I’m not going to talk about, because it doesn’t actually matter, honest) didn’t pan out as it was supposed to.

But I set my intentions! I rode the wave of acceptance! I was grateful!

Come off it. Nah. Sometimes shit doesn’t pan out and you either fall hard or get on with it. In the end, I was glad that thing didn’t pan out, because I felt like I’d been freed. Freed from an industry that felt fake and vacuous, freed on my own trudgey path, to do whatever I want on it. I could kick some stones for a while, make some moves. Or, as it happens, stand completely still. But here’s the rub. I’ve been entertaining thoughts of doing other things. I wrote a book a year ago and sat on it for another year, picking it apart, editing, sending to my beta readers. It reawakened a very simple, undemanding love for reading and writing. It doesn’t always make me feel bad when I do it. It is a pure and unadulterated mode escapism. Excuse me while I jump off the world for a sec. Of course, there are days I have no ideas, I can’t pull together any words, and on those days, I feel like a steaming hot pile of turd. But generally, I lie awake at night imagining scenes, characters. I’ve realised I see the world through a writers eyes, always creating stories for people, craving seeing inside someone else’s life, figure out their quirks. Everyone I meet is a character I analyse and flesh out in my head. I couldn’t quite believe I’d buried this part of me for so long. I challenged myself to finish a novel in a year, and I did it. I finished the thing, just to prove to myself that I had it in me. I can’t tell you how freeing this is. So I started wondering if music had led me down a certain path, because from a young age, I had also craved attention and being on the stage, to perform. In my head, I imagined myself on red carpets and at award shows, even though I learned in my late teens how childish and silly this was. But in the back of my mind, always, I had pictured my life playing out away from Newcastle, away from London even. I guess I existed in a different world than the one I knew, even the one that looked real. It meant if I didn’t make music, or get played on Radio 1, or play the big festivals with the other big guys, or be the one to watch... I would fail. There was nothing else. It was this, or nothing.

Obviously that mindset had repercussions in the end. So. I’ve given up on all those unrealistic dreams.

I have no desire to be part of the music industry. Not now, after everything. It’s like I can see through the veil, and on the other side, all I see is poor mental health. I honestly love my life, my little flat, a hot brew after hot bowl food, wasting my life on Netflix but being held by a person I love. That’s all there is for me. Everything else is a bonus. I’m not giving up. I’m just, sort of, giving in. Letting go of the things that don’t make me happy. That includes those dreams, those expectations. The way I see it is, we live in a world that tells us to want more, get more, be endlessly unsatisfied and in a perpetual state of craving. I have wanted this idea for as long as I remember, but the reality is, the idea doesn’t exist. It’s kind of like planning for a holiday. You’ve booked the flights, the transfers, you know you can get by with the bikinis you already own, but in the back of your mind you’re thinking, I could do with a very specific vest top or skirt or shorts for this holiday, otherwise I’ll be really annoyed not wearing the right thing when you’re climbing the steps from GoT in Dubrovnik, and you’ll have to look back on those pictures knowing that vest top was cropped when you didn’t want it to be. Or you’ve suddenly got a long list of items you need for this holiday, even though you know deep down, it’s about the memories and the respite of being on the actual bloody holiday, not the new travel wallet you bought from Liberties because Marie Claire told you it was a must-have for the holiday season. We’re always being sold stuff, only valuing ourselves through the lens of how everyone else perceives us, and what’s worse is that social media knows exactly what we’re thinking, what we’re tempted by. Instagram reinforces the need for a new cross-body bag for the holiday because you googled it or searched or it on ASOS. So you think, yeah, you know, I do need all that stuff. I need to fulfill my dream version of the holiday otherwise it won’t count.

That’s life. If you boil it right down to a lovely little jus, and drip it down on your unrealistic expectations, you’ll realise you’ve been spending years berating yourself by wanting more, wanting the goal, even wanting more while you have it, while doing everything to forget to be grateful or appreciative to yourself for the work you’ve put in to achieving it already. You’re missing it all while you set your sights ahead. Dreams about how your life is going to look are a waste of time. Dreams are full of stuff we don’t need. Spend your days with your head in the clouds and you forget how to walk in the street without being hit by a cyclist.

Look, if I can release music and write a book, while being able to go to the pub for a pint and a game of Monopoly cards, and think about the possibility of having a family one day, then I’m happy. Family, people, connections, meaning, that’s what human beings need. It’s what I need, anyway.

I don’t want the guilt that comes with never quite achieving that perfect version of my life. My life is perfect. It might not look like how I imagined it when I first got my passport, imagining where I’d be in ten years time, but if I spend one more day looking years ahead to that perfect moment, I’d completely miss it. Miss now. I’d miss the fact that my actual life, today, right now, is better than I could have imagined.

So fuck that, pet.

I’m still recording, and I’m releasing very, very soon. But I’m just going along with it. I’m nervous about playing live, about the music world opening it’s doors to me again. Not sure if I want to step through. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. But what I’ve realised recently is that I can, as a woman, as a person, have it all. I can make my own music, release it, perform it live. I can do session work, I can tour the world with Nitin Sawhney and perform to crowds of thousands, and I can clock out. I can write a book, I can work on a second. I can work in a coffee shop and enjoy it. I can audition for shows. I can stay at home on the PS4 on New Years Eve with my love and have the best time, and not think about how there was no huge monumental moment for me at the end of the decade, only the realisation that I have all I could ever really need.

There isn’t one line that I have to follow. There isn’t one line you have to follow! Do what makes you happy, and remember what you really need to be so.

Thinking that music was the only thing that I was permitted to do was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I felt that trying my hand at anything else was pushing my luck. Nobody would take me seriously if I spread myself too thin. Jack of all trades, and that. I didn’t even let myself explore to find out how good I am at any of it. I told myself no. I allowed myself to cradle that silly dream of making it (I honestly don’t know what this means any more), for years, and it held me back. There is no making it. There is only work, and today.

And, anyway, I really don’t make enough money in one of those fields to warrant me only trudging through one. At this point, I have to think realistically, financially.

I have to hike through them all.

#unrealisticdreams #zeroambition #determination #gratitude #mentalhealthawareness #peakanxiety #mentalhealthblog #mentalhealthblogger

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