While it is possible to find joy in whatever one might be doing, it is yet extremely unhappy to be doing things not in the direction of one’s inclination. To work against the alignment of one’s desires is to see those desires force themselves to the surface, to watch the compass forever dragged their way. A constrained lexicon shrinks thought; open expression, when uncalculated, becomes auto-condemnation.
I seem to be unable to write clearly about much of anything, or to make myself understood to anyone, apart from domains where I understand the expected terms of highly coded response, and moments of reflexive unplanned precision. I’m not sure how I can continue on in present trajectory without erosion reaching a point that’s unrecognizable. Perhaps I lack the conviction that whatever essential thing that must be said lies within me. The tormented construction of the thought reveals a problem of both anxiety and grandiosity. The two are welded to one another and refuse to be set aside.
I am now thinking about all of the times I have been told I am “too academic” or “too detailed.” Then I am thinking about how I must “have more confidence” and “be heard.” The conflicting nature of these critiques is the point— they are symptoms of moving goalposts, deliberately contradictory, and to be taken only as far as the opinions of others bear on one’s material standing. Yet else does one see oneself if not through the lens of others, in consideration of their comfort and enjoyment. If there is a truly objective standard, in some respects I wonder if it has ever touched my life.
One must always be working to bring about what one truly wishes to have in one’s life; and, if after so many years one has failed to do so, one must begin to wonder about the strengths of one’s desire, one’s fidelity, one’s fortitude, the accuracy of one’s compass.