that is a constant battle. as Pressfield put it, now i have entered the belly of the beast, and resistance grows stronger. along with my desire to keep going. every unsuccessful attempt i make at becoming a pro both drives me crazy and gives me more courage. i never thought it would be so difficult.
the thought that keeps coming back is that this is probably the hardest decision and the hardest thing i've done or tried to do.
pursuing what you love is much, much harder than living up to someone else's expectations - at least the beginning of it is. because when you are doing what others think is good for you, there is no strong emotion involved. there is not much to lose and the path is clear and defined. you know what to do, you know how to do it, but it slowly kills you from the inside, whereas this is the exact opposite for me - i have got no clue what i'm doing and how to get where i want to be, but the thing itself gives me strength and courage. the resistance kicks in then though, and i imagine myself in a snow storm, frozen and struggling to survive, knowing that i just left a lost igloo that could keep me warm for a while, but make me stuck there forever, and i have to walk, and each step is harder than the one before, and i only know that i have to keep going to get to a better place. with better weather conditions. with better everything. to build a house.
i refuse to believe the chatter in my head that says there is no place for me in the magical world of art, that all the places are taken. this is bullshit that my mind wants me to believe to avoid the inevitable rejection, disappointment and struggle, but those things are necessary for the process and for my growth.
i keep coming down on my knees and pray to all the gods out there, to the muse and to the universe, to give me strength, and it does. each step forward is a step away from my misery.