The Suburban Timeline

I’m realising that studying and working on my creativity has an inherent selfish connotation in my mind, and I wonder if this is why I struggle to act on it or find myself interested.

In a world that struggles so much everyday I find it hard to picture myself squirrelled away in my room drawing imaginary clothes as useful, especially when I find it so stressful.

I find it hard to make my life intentionally stressful except for obvious betterment.

I love uprooting, I love breaking up, I love starting again.

And I miss having a home, I miss my family, I miss my high school sweetheart, I miss my 9-5.

I grew up with my life curated for me, curated in a way that made it exciting, shiny, special, hard, upsetting, dramatic, pretty, colourful, thoughtful, important

I think those are all things I’m good at doing for myself now.

In some ways I wish I had grown up in suburbia, beat to humdrum rhythms, able to add my own riffs.

Instead perhaps I grew up in the orchestra, never quite first chair, but always enthralled, determined to figure out what language the conductor was speaking, so I could overthrow him.

Now I long for music, wondering what pieces everyone’s writing, how I could offer my skills, fill a chair, because I never did figure out how to conduct.