So here I am. Monday early evening. I started work late-ish (10am), took a really long lunch and errand break, came back home to work some more, and now deciding to call it a day and A. take a shower, B. read blogs, C. force myself to write a blog post, D. me realizing I need fucking hobbies, E. feeling bad I don't have fucking hobbies, hence why I am writing.
Okay, so here's the thing. I am having passion burnout, just a bit. Is that a thing? Is it not a thing? I don't know, but what I do know is right now I work and work and work and work, and then I consume, consume, consume...hours on Instagram, blogs, etc. Hey, sometimes it's greeeeeeeat to be mindless, other times I feel uninspired, unmotivated and fucking down in the dumps.
So yesterday, out of nowhere, I cried. Chris was there, and it was absolutely no surprise to him other than, what's making you cry, Liz? I've hit this wall, where, well, I feel like I am doing so much, but not much for myself, if that makes sense. And then, when I have this realization of wanting to do more this wall builds high in front of me that is so high the climb just feels so ridiculous that I just say 'fuh-getta-bout-it'. And then I don't feel fulfilled and happy because I am not doing more for myself. Like this blog, and writing. I WANT MORE. But I sit, and indulge and consume, and feel the hangover of it all, feel bad, tell myself it won't happen again because it feels so bad, and then, bam, back at it again. So here I am writing about these feelings, because I can't be the only one, right? Dissecting and really thinking about why I might brush off hobbies is because I think I am not good. But, who says you have to be good at everything? Or, like, hmm..if I blog enough maybe I can become this world wide blogger that becomes my career and everyone follows and we bring it back to the blogs! But, again, why do I have to blog to get a following count? Or try to gain money? Why can't it just be an outlet for me to write about the good and bad and people read if they want to but in the end it's a collection of my life I can always look back on? Why can't my thoughts be presented in that way than trying to ridiculously churn out blog post after blog post that would make me exhausted and feel inauthentic? THESE are my daily/weekly struggles and I am trying to get through them. I understand though, to feel fulfilled I need to do more. Take my camera out and take photos. Write! Publish, or don't, but write! Take long walks. Listen to inspiring podcasts. Do outfit changes, just because! Try new makeup tricks. Do yoga. Read! Workout. Listen to music, to actually listen to music. Bake. Maybe learn how to cook? Paint, because even though I am not good that shit's therapeutic.
Why does it all have to feel like it needs to equate to something? Like I need to be good. I need to post to Instagram. I need to monetize. Why can't it just because because WHY THE FUCK NOT AND I WANT TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME? So, I am working on it. I am working on the, do shit that makes you happy. Do it for you, and no one else. Who the fuck is with me?!