My inner critic was alive and well for much of last week, telling me that I am never going to make anything out of this life as a creative.

“Just give up and be normal.” – A familiar refrain that I’m accustomed to feeling to my core. The words that I say to myself in times where I feel uninspired.

It isn’t that easy, though. I won’t give up on this, and I’ll never be normal. The very notion that I should concede is another instance of the pressures of polite society weighing on me. As I’ve gotten more bold about professing my choice to be an artist, I’ve found this same polite society greet me with a mix of confusion and elation.

I’m the one who will have to starve to succeed and I think that other people fundamentally understand this so they find it harmless to tell me “That’s cool.” They have some part of themselves that feels the way I do, though, and maybe that part of them had to die for the sake of a normal life. So whenever I get the half-hearted congratulations from well-meaning strangers and might as well be strangers, I mourn a little for their lack. It also gives me another opportunity to express gratitude for my life.

I have the freedom to pursue this insane thing because of the stability of my living situation. I am lucky almost laughably beyond measure.

Above all, I’m not just alive, I’m living.