Stories Aren’t Everything

You know, for all my talk about writing I really don’t write that much. Not in the way most people seem to take it. See, when I say I write all the time I’m not necessarily talking about fiction. I really don’t think of myself as a “story-teller” per say, and it’s not the stories that have been a constant habit for years. It’s just the writing itself. About anything. Even about how fucking miserable I am with life in general, if there’s nothing else to write about.

Of course the problem with that is the level of bitterness and… well, let me just put it this way: I don’t think of myself as my worst critic, I think of myself as my worst infliction. The only reason anyone sees me as confident or strong is because my own insecurity is none of their fucking business, but don’t get me wrong. It’s there. Anyhow, that’s kind of beside the point.

What I’m getting at is that I write about the online communities, I type out the thoughts that get triggered by a quote every now and then, I talk about anything and everything.  I write. And I am not a story-teller.

Artist? Maybe, but that sounds kind of pretentious. Liar? Definitely, but what artist isn’t. Thing is, I don’t always do that when I write. You see it in stories, or maybe in advice or outlooks I share here… it’s in the stories because they’re specifically not about me and it might be in other areas because let’s face it, I’m as much of a hypocrite as anybody else. It doesn’t mean the advice is bad or that I’m full of shit, but don’t kid yourself.

Paint an image of me in your mind based on all of that and you’ll be the one that’s full of shit. I’m hardly the person I wish I were, and the parts of myself that are revealed to you (here, my other blog, wherever) only give you a tiny glimpse. Even if you put them all together you only get a caricature. And don’t get me wrong, I’m good at cherry picking which parts of myself I show. The caricature is pretty, likeable. Hell I’d even say charismatic.

If you think that’s the whole picture though think again. And that doesn’t just go for me, that probably goes for everyone. Make yourself an open book and at the end of the day, you’re still the only one that’s going to see a complete reflection when you look in the proverbial mirror. That’s one of the reasons I say introspection is a big fat fucking waste of time. It’s not hard.

All you really have to do to be self-aware is drop any of the b.s. you may have been feeding yourself and stop denying anything you don’t like about yourself. Me? I’m kind of a nobody. I tell myself it’s just for now, but hope or no hope for the future… it doesn’t alter my current reality all of a sudden. If that happens, if I become something more, depends entirely on what I do, not on how much I know about myself.

“I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.”
~Bruce Lee

The difference between useless information and a little bit of applied knowledge is astonishing. Improving your self-awareness is, in that light, pretty fucking useless. Just do something about what you are aware of and let the rest fall in place as you go. If your self-awareness grows along the way then that’s just dandy, but it’s not as important as conventional wisdom would have you believe.

It’s not complicated and you don’t need a lot of it in order to do something with it. Getting back to what I was originally talking about though… I write because I need to write. Stories are just one facet of it, and a pretty small one at that.


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