I lie awake at night with ideas popping in my head like fireworks. Hundreds of them, up there bursting in the sky of my imagination before fizzling into the black of night, the ashes swept under a pillowcase.
I don’t know why they come at night, but they do. Sometimes I write them down, sometimes I promise I’ll remember, sometimes I follow them off into the dark. But what happens more often then not is that the finale of ideas turns into this sense of anxiety, which then gives way to this sense of fear that I haven’t done enough, and never can.
I wonder if there is something wrong with me. Something seriously, psychologically wrong? Why can’t I turn off my head? Why, if can’t I make all the things I see happen, must I be cursed with them populating my consciousness? And why do I feel the need to tell people I’ve never met about all this…
There it is again… there… right at the tip of that last thought. This thing. This one, sharp, jagged thing that sticks in my being. It’s like the grip of an unseen hand around me, squeezing. An obscene hum in the background of my existence. This need to throw myself out there and be validated by everyone around me.
They say your self identity is formed in part by what you believe, and in part by what comes reverberating back at you once you’ve thrown yourself out to the mercy and judgement of world around you— what parts of you get endorsed, what parts get accepted.
God I hate this.
And yet I’m chained to it…
This is the force shooting off all the fireworks, the hand holding the match that sends flash down fuses.
There was once a time when the ideas were for me you know. Things that a genuinely satisfied; things I wanted to do for me. Just for me. Ideas that didn’t need the world to deem them worthy of pursuit.
I miss those days. I’ve missed them for a long time now. I always wanted to be known, be famous, have the elitist dream granted. But the more time I spend in that world the more I find myself committing this horrible sin of filtering the thoughts of my heart through a lens that makes me ask if what I’m feeling is worth something to someone else. If not, it’s probably not worth feeling.
In a world of likes, and retweets, and reviews, and stars, and friend totals… how much of me is me, and how much is the artificial construct of a Dirk that lives to pander to that force out there? How much is me being jerked along by a social leash for a biscuit of relevance?
I wish I could turn it all off. Desperately I do. Sometimes it adds up on me so heavily I don’t know if I can bear the weight off it. It’s easy to say that no one else’s opinion matters, but it always matters. It always will matter and it always has mattered. We are social beings. In fact, those of us who reject the opinion of all others are often labeled psychotic, insane, mad.
The truth is we all want to be a little mad. We want to be free and confident, because we realize a life lived purely for the approval of others is no life at all. We all want to march to the beat of our own drum, but dammit if we don’t also want others to like the beat we’re making… It’s torture. We’re so close and yet so far.
Lord do I envy those who love their own music, because the song pleases them and no one else.
Lord do I miss the days when the fireworks were just for me.
Good night.
Dirk: it’s a gift, like the ability to throw pitches past major league hitters. The big difference is that THIS gift, the gift of creativity, does not diminish with age. You have a huge talent, a writing skill that will outlive your athletic skills by many decades.
The mind that cannot be turned off is a wonderful thing, but it does come with a price, as you have discovered.
I didn’t have the athletic skills that you possess, but from age 15 on, I have had a creative mind over which I have no control. No OFF button, not even a lower gear. I have talked with many successful creative people, and this is our common denominator. It’s not easy to learn to live with this non-stop brain, and it’s tougher for those who live with us – they have to adjust to our “abnormal” behavior, and hopefully understand and support it.
My thought – treasure the fact that you have a gift that lasts so long, one that others can enjoy, and grit your teeth and endure the down side of the gift as best you can.
David E. Carter
Dirk, you know as Christians we are called to be salt and light in this world, and to be in it but not of it. This is made vastly more difficult by our electronically connected society full of Likes and Retweets. I used to live my life trying to be the best of everything I did, constantly feeling the pressure to be MORE. However, once I found true acceptance in our Lord and Savior who meets me where I am, I now seek to live a godly life and I’ve found that it fits the bill no matter what hat I wear (Wife, Mom, Employee, Friend, Daughter, Fan). I am highly appreciative of your writing and the way you share your thoughts and belief in such an eloquent way. I hope only to encourage you with my words I share here as a reminder that as a believer, you already are accepted by the only One who matters. I hope you never lose the motivation to strive to be more, but don’t suffer trying to be what you are not. You were created in His image and it’s perfect. I believe in you and your mission on this earth to touch people with a fresh message. Be blessed!
I think you’d enjoy this essay written by Jonathan Franzen. The Name is “Liking Is for Cowards. Go for What Hurts” and you can google it very easily. I didn’t link to it directly because I’m not sure how legal that is.
Or you could read Hamlet. I find it to be a cathartic experience concerning these questions.