A Writer's Confession

Four years ago I realized I was living my life in bad faith.

Shackles to my wrists. Chain and ball to my foot, a rusty sword above my head, the nagging voices of the many, held so close for no reason, rendering me voiceless for too long. One morning, an epiphany. Freed at last of them all I embraced my decision, hardened my resolve, for better or worse.

I burnt bridges to a cinder and moved cities, hoping for a fresh start, a great leap forward, toward the life I truly wanted to live. A life of adamant idealism, I realize, looking back. Dreams of a full schedule, of no wasted moment, of Cello classes every monday and of Fencing with the rich kids every tuesday, and massive meal preps every sunday, and, and, this pressure that I put myself under, this sheer PRESSURE to be better than my past self!

What madness these days were truly. To awake early in the morning and hurry along to the gym, miserable yet disciplined. To search and search for this perfect job opportunity, as stressful as possible, getting the job, chugging the coffee and tweaking from the eye, staring at myself in the mirror, on some morning, knowing that I have decided to live the life I've always wanted!

Thinking back, I was doomed to fail, how naive could I be? I persevered yet crumbled under it all, cracking at the seams, collapsing under the weight of my own making, hilarious!

It seems change is always difficult, and so this leap to greatness was sullied by failure; unending months of idleness, of unending struggles and substance abuse, isolation, escapism. I went so far down that upon gazing up, the distant light seemed so much prettier than ever before!

Transformed I reached up, shedding this time not the hell that are others, but the shell that is the illusion of my past self.

And out of the pit, freed from everything truly, I sat outside, under the sun, in the complete silence of the afternoon, surrounded by time and birds and critters, falling leaves, the haze of the past and the unending coming days of the tomorrow, dizzying, exhilarating, and I stared up, gazed up, to the clouds, oh yes the clouds!

And so, instead of living at the mercy of others, and twisting myself, and hoping to fit in the greasy, silly mold that was thrown at me, I have chosen to live for myself, for the sake of others; selfishly, egotistically, without any shame either. No longer crumbling under the weight of this perfect image, but striving upward, to the ideal. I have chosen to dedicate myself to Art, to writing, to threading the path of the Greats. To live everyday in the present moment, to better myself as a writer, to create, and create, and create, for what is more meaningful than the act of creation?

And so whenever I can, I stare at the clouds passing by, white reminders that solace is at arm’s reach, that change is possible, that there is more to life than the hell that are other people...

You will ask me, why the clouds?

Well, to me, clouds are daydreaming, imagination, contemplation, life’s beauty. It’s flowery, but the writer in me is like clouds; taking words, crafting stories, much like water evaporating, becoming infinitely more. To me, creativity is a necessity, without it, life loses its meaning. And what better medium than writing, to let words become clouds, that inspire others.

All these short stories and poems, that I've written so far; the culmination of these many years of creative writing, of striving, of renewal. I have been writing my truth, for any to witness, for me.

I thank you for reading, and hope you enjoy my writings.

YonathanJ