Finding the Time to Create
The world we live in is a busy one, and it's only getting busier by the day. Everyone is so focused on surviving that not many find the time or energy to truly work towards what they want. Adults will go to college for years, accumulating thousands in debt, hoping that they can live the second half of their life how they had spent the first half fantasizing. Not many do.
I am a biology pre-med student, work 30 hours a week, live with my brother, need 10 hours of sleep at night, and most importantly, am a terrible procrastinator. Now add all of those together and what do you get? Someone with way too many interests and not enough time or energy to work on any of them.
I used to read several books a week, now I read a few pages as I click "renew 3 books" for the 4th time on the public library's website. I had sketchbooks and canvasses spread across my house, and now I have one watercolor drawing I started during spring break somewhere under my bed. Future historians might find this treasure in a few centuries and assume I died of a pandemic in March 2020 before I had the opportunity to complete it.
It's not that I do not want to finish it, on the other hand, I was impressed with my work so far and was excited to see the end result, a rare occurrence for someone as self-doubting as I am. I simply am too mentally and physically tired to focus my energy anywhere that does not directly or immediately benefit me. If it isn't arguing with rude, entitled customers over why masks are mandatory in our store, it's seeing the poverty and famine striking Lebanon at the hands of a few avaricious politicians. It's so overwhelming that all I want to do is watch Criminal Minds and browse Instagram for memes until I fall asleep. #selfcare
A while ago, I tried solving this issue by giving myself small goals meant to be virtually impossible to fail, like reading 10 pages a day. I eventually gave up, convincing myself that 10 pages was barely anything, the whole 'go big or go home' mentality, where unfortunately, most times I decide to go home.
I throw the blame at being too preoccupied with work and university to indulge in creativity; it's easier than admitting defeat. But I am defeated. I've been brought to my knees by the injustices of today, I've been beaten so hard that what was once my catharsis is now a poor attempt to feel human in an inhuman world.
My goal for the upcoming years is to reclaim the motivation that was brutally stolen from me. It is a tedious and infuriating journey that seems to have no end in sight. I'm trying, and I'm failing, but the important thing is that I'm trying again. And hopefully, eventually, it will be the last time I have to try.
