Remember, like, a month ago when I said I’d be blogging here more often? Yeah, me neither.
I realized that I’m the most inspired to write when I’m upset. My best posts are borne out of sadness or frustration or anger. And I haven’t truly felt those emotions in a long time (despite what you might think from my frequent hate-tweets).
The last time I wrote a really great collection of stories two years ago, I was very close to depressed, I felt stuck in a bad situation, and I felt like every terrible thing that could happen to me, did. Now in LA, my life is nowhere near put together, but this time I don’t feel hopeless.
I think my recent contentment with the trials of everyday life comes from my recent growth in maturity. At the ripe old age of 25, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I probably will not star in my own reality TV show. Instead of blacking out from alcohol every night and being proud of it, I now black out from alcohol every other night—and I’m ashamed of it. And every day I’m more and more attracted to the lifestyle of a suburban mom than of a bottle serviced party girl.
Three years ago, when I was fresh out of college, I wanted to be successful, but I didn’t know how I was going to get there. I looked to other successful people for clues and took notes from rap songs about how to work hard and hustle all the time. Now that I’m 25 years old, I’m somehow surprised that I’m not sitting on $25 mil like Drake was at my age, until I realize that I overlooked the decade of work he’d put in before he got there. And then I realize that there’s no reason why I can’t figure out how to make $25 mil in a decade, too.
With each year, we all develop further personally, and 2015 for me yielded a lot of professional milestones. I worked with companies and artists who seemed untouchable just a year ago. I traveled to a handful of cities I had never seen before. People started recognizing me at parties. I now have more resources and a large support system (s/o Nap Girls) if I ever need help with work or if I’m feeling down.
I’m experiencing a paradoxical feeling of being perpetually happy with my life and my accomplishments, while also feeling frustrated that I have nothing to write about. So here’s my latest post on how I’ve sort of found my bliss in understanding that life is what you make of it. And if life decides to hand me more lemons one of these days, I’ll either have something to write about or I’ll figure out how to sell them for 25 million dollars.