27 & Going Nowhere: Exactly Where I Need to Be

The darkroom was where I first welcomed the person I wanted to be "IRL." I felt lost and on-edge throughout high school, and this was the one place I was able to open up around my classmates. The darkroom was small, dark, meditative, & flirtatious. Like most at 17, I was bewitched by cynicism and social indifference. I thought I was charming because I hated my life. Though, at the time, I may have agreed that life could be beautiful, it was because of the value I saw in suffering. Suffering was beautiful and I had over 1K Tumblr followers to prove it. Young adults of the 2010's crowded the platform to congratulate each other's sadness before it became cringey to do so online. It was also during this time that I happened to be experiencing recurrent nightmares. I would be standing in a white room with no walls, boundaries, or structures. The place extended forever and I was all alone, always. Though my outlets may have intended to serve as an oasis away from my deepest fears, they only acted as objects of self-indulgence, which I used to shield myself from any pain. Rather than question why it was only in the safety of public school art classes that I could find peace, the false security that my environment offered became more precious to me than anything real in my life. I needed constant self-care, but failed to understand the full meaning of this gesture and how my efforts were consequently fruitless.

My edgy conceit would later grant me a spot in a semi-selective film program for college. Classes were small, my ideas advanced quickly, and I finally felt like I was able to live the fullest version of my life. Desperate to replicate the shallow sense of community I exclusively felt online and in one-sided relationships with various English teachers, I directed my focus on "finding my people" in all the wrong places. Neglecting to grasp the original source of this struggle, I started forming relationships built on half-baked values, limited deep-rooted connections, and at times even misery. This was sure to fail and, when it did, I centered my direction back to my own art and suffering− but this time, a way I could fix them. I had recorded hours worth of videos when I was back home from school. The attachment I had to this footage provided me with a sense of relief, once again. If what I was learning in school was true, film wasn't just an artform, it was evidence. Proof that we exist, that we feel, that we bleed. In contrast to my open-world nightmares, I found comfort submerging myself in the heavy wounds of my work (and thus, my traumas). They were snug, crowded, and impossible to comprehend. I sat in that dark editing lab, scrubbing through dozens of tapes in search of the exact moment I figured this world had failed me. Instead, I found myself being able to manipulate time and space amongst the quiet chatter of a few classmates. What I had recorded became a lucid dream where I could make anything appear, if I imagined it hard enough. If I didn't like one edition, I could just re-cut it. If I didn't like one ending, I could write another.

Dedicating your entire being to a creative project is like an emotional love affair or tumultuous friendship. Most of it is exciting, but late at night you may sit unrested in an attempt to connect the puzzle pieces that sit before you and wonder if any of it is worth your time. Consistently, I agreed that it was. The hardest discovery that I've made within the last 5 years was the fact that this was actually doing nothing for me and I got nowhere while doing it. Like any child, I desired the freedom to live by my own decisions− a "promised" benefit of adulthood. The real rewards, however, are the moments we realize our values and take them forward with us, with the intention of reaching our fullest potential. For my birthday this year, I've decided that art isn't worth dying for. It's tough explaining my proudest accomplishment to people− putting my wellness before anything, including art. Art is a means of living and it's unsustainable when you haven't learned how to show up for yourself. If I'm not living a life of improvement and purpose, then my art will be self-indulgent and stunted. Rather than waste my creativity continuing to haunt myself and ruminating on any distress, I now seek sources of beauty by expanding my tolerance for difficulty, defining a sense of peace for myself, and unlearning the past. Mastering a concentrated discipline takes time− that's inescapable. The clout that comes with certain achievements may (at large) be considered more valuable than the personal advancements it took to get there, but an expert with little to no creative or individual philosophies is just a media personality. Alternatively, I'm learning to embrace the now, lengthen my process, and be okay with taking time in order to simply live the life I've been given.

The truth is, I will never get a chance to meet the magically healed or evolved version of myself that I've been trying to sculpt with balled-up fists. Like anyone else, I seek love, acceptance, wisdom, but they're not in my fantasies nor some distant future. I am here and now and that's the way it has always been. I can continue to learn from my mistakes and take risks towards a kinder future without looking to repress or cure the damage that has occurred in the past. I'm allowed to forgive myself for the times I've united with another suffering individual and, together, we failed to hold onto our own messes, as well as the messes we created or shared together. It also feels good to acknowledge that the things I love about myself are powers I've possessed my entire life. Rather than sit with my woes and wonder why my life is the way that it is, I've begun to accept that the answer is not easy, nor is it interesting. This question, "Why is my life this way?" would never serve anyone, because life is never about you. Everyday people wake up carrying generations worth of their families' pain on their shoulders. The lucky ones become aware of it and the winners learn how and when to let it all go. Today, there are no more blankets of safety to upkeep my illusions of comfort. Even after crossing the finish line, life has revealed itself to be very scary and I needed something more to live for. Art isn't always enough. That is why I am choosing to take things slow, be easy, and very kind to myself... even if that means I'm going absolutely nowhere.