You talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?
No, I really can’t. I can’t walk the walk, I discovered while out walking today.
I’ve been showing off a peculiar gait the last few weeks, owing to an annoyingly persistent and annoyingly minor foot injury. This iffy ankle has encumbered me so much that I can’t run like I used to – halving court time at basketball and reducing my morning jog to a power walk (read: unnecessarily urgent foolish-looking pace) – and adding insult to (minor) injury, it isn’t major enough to excuse me from work or elicit ‘Nawww…” responses from Parking Inspectors gleefully issuing tickets to my begrudgingly able-bodied self. This grey area of physical affliction drives me insane. I just want one way or the other: happily resigned to bed and blogging, or running for my life from ninjas, terminators, Pennywise and Spanish bulls.
Really, my hobble is just the tip of the iceberg. I can’t walk the walk – the metaphoric one, connotative to action and follow-through of attitudes and plans for the future. I’ve stopped trying nearly completely in the last month. There have been glimmers of an actual pursuit of my ambitions – attending the Sydney Writers’ Festival, scribbling poems, scratching jokes, searching jobs – but what have I done worth showing to partners, audiences, prospective employers? I’ve grown lazy and I don’t think it’s because of the ankle.
I’ve been shaken, rudely, of late. There are some who are gifted with the virtues of resilience, dedication and sacrifice. And there are others who haven’t had the will or cause to learn these virtues. I am in the latter category of people and, merely nagged by my professional responsibilities and ambitions, I am ashamed of my situation.
I tried so hard this year. I bit bullets and at last shared my work; reaching out to friends, family, peers and strangers. I applied for jobs I felt ill-qualified for and got interviews. I jumped into impro performance. I studied, read and wrote daily. I set deadlines and I met them.
These attempts, these plans, these projects haven’t worked out. I had sneaking suspicions with these jobs I missed; I considered the odds of competitions and incentives; I could feel relationships crumbling bit by bit. These slights happened in isolated weeks, on ordinary days, between the delightful and the hum-drum. They weren’t so surprising nor were they dramatically affecting in my life. They were so small, so surreptitious, so slight… That word is married so perfect to its definition.
My passion has fizzled. I now wake and use the morning aimlessly, work afternoons and nights, and consider projects in the witching hour when I am too apathetic to truly imagine and innovate. And I hear and see all the wonderful things my loved ones are achieving or striving to achieve. It’s entirely on me, I tell myself now, like I told myself so many months ago when I returned from travel and began doing; thinking decisively and getting at this life business. Only now, I can’t see anything in the future I can feel hopeful for. There are very broad brushstrokes of collaborations and very distant deadlines. I need something now. Something shiny to capture my sense of wonder, desire and purpose or I may fizzle out completely. I want to be that excitable puppy again who pee at the hint of a writing incentive.
I thought about my prospects on my midday-til-dusk walk. I considered returning to study, moving out, moving cities, jumping into more stable work suited to my skills and experience. I think I know what I want to do, what I must do, but it’ll take hard work and discipline. It’s even difficult just to discuss these things with others. I often detect a certain tone and expression when I talk to family and friends about what I do and want to do. My dreams and my measures of success should be my own, but inextricably linked to these senses of happiness, expression and fulfilment is their worth to others and especially those I deeply care about. It’s no fault of theirs. Maybe they just think that I’m talking the talk.
It’s entirely on me. I made something out of the clean slate five months ago. I just have to keep working, keep planning, keep aspiring and keep writing more than anything. To keep me motivated and self-aware. To make me resilient and inspired. To withstand rejection, disappointment and criticism (...mostly coming from myself, no?)
