The last couple of weeks were a bit bumpy, rather harsh after some months of constant delirium. I called it pre-midlife crisis, thanks to the fact that it was not about a real problem, more like worrying about something that might happen; namely not getting the chance to join the MA of my dreams (aka. Major Mid-Life Crisis).
I think I’m over now: I have plan B, even plan C, ready in case of failure. Now I’m sitting in a café sipping home-made lemonade, working myself through the week 3 assignment of the latest MOMA-craze.
Thanks to my wonderful, wonderful cousin my motivation letter has just been finalized, and now all I need is the recommendation letters, then I’m all set to hand in my application. (Yes, I haven’t even sent it yet, nevertheless I’m scared to death what the hell I’m going to do if they don’t take me.)
In a few months everything will be up-side-down, hopefully. I should be on a new, much wider path to achieve something I have been thinking about for years. It would be much appreciated if my bad dreams reeking of existential fears were also gone soon. Let’s hope this (slightly too sweet) lemonade will be the last thing reminding me of them. As of now, I consider it an antidote.
In Hungary you are not supposed to wash or clean on the first day of the year – unless you want to do that all day, every day.
In the spirit of this superstition I have made the best possible day out of mine: I woke up the way I like it the most. I had a scrumptious breakfast in the morning sunshine, enjoying the misty view. I went to the beach to take some pictures, had a lunch outside, went jogging, did my exercise. I read something of value and I wrote this post. I took my time whatever I did. No fuss, no frustration. Now I’m heading to see my evening companion to spend the best kind of Friday night together and even though I did not get to cook the sort-of-compulsory lentil dish of the first day of the year I know I have started it well.
Here is to the days one spends as they should spend all the coming days.
Happy New Year!
This week I’m on an “accidental” holiday. No traveling, simply having real time for stuff I usually have to squeeze into my evenings and/or weekends.
Do not get me wrong, I am grateful for the job I have, it pays the bills. However, it also kills the flow and mutes my soul.
One year ago I was on the brink of total bankruptcy, yet working on projects and taking photographs. Now I am back on track and paying into my pension again but lost in routine.
I assume what I would badly need for a good balance is discipline. That I lack big time though so now all I can see that sitting in a café at 10 AM, waiting for a photo shoot with the latest papers and sipping good coffee is something I truly miss. Also, I’m back in the flow. No more muted soul – not this week.
Last week it finally happened to me, the first time: my photographs hanging on a wall, vulnerably exposing themselves to curious eyes. It was awfully frightening and wonderfully inspiring at the very same time. Thank goodness it was a group show so the attention was nicely, cozily shared and many, many of my friends showed up turning the whole evening from manageable into something fascinating. Now I cannot wait to have the next one. Anyone willing to throw an exposition for me?
Anyways, what I am planing to blog about is nervousness. Not the kind pushing you ahead but the crippling one, keeping you back from achieving whatever. We may call it inhibition (should definitely be used in plural), an inner urge to prove ourselves (to whomever we think we are doing things for) or perfectionism; we can blame it on our parents, our first teacher(s) – but if we are being completely honest it’s just an excuse, nothing more.
It’s not that I cannot handle criticism. [I know exactly which one of you is shaking his head right now in strong disagreement.] Nevertheless putting myself (pictures taken by me) out there is not an easy task. Do you ever have dreams where you are all of a sudden (almost) naked in public? That’s quite much how it feels like. Those photographs are like my children. They might not be perfect but they are mine. Fragments of my being. Confessions, in a sense. Stuff you don’t really want to show just to anyone.
Virtual galleries are somehow different. There is that “distance” there, between you (your pictures) and the viewer. It’s a lot like online dating: it’s so much easier to approach someone on the internet…
My point is: last week I was far out of my comfort zone like I had not been for a long, long time. (Avoiding “risky” situations is definitely one of my fortes.) And you know what? It felt good.
Dedicated to my phenomenal friends making sure life not simply passes by but happens to me.