There have been extremely few moments in my life where I have been inspired. Inspiration doesn’t come easy or naturally to me. It’s this elusive concept I have tried so hard to find some semblance of in my life. It’s like those things that you have heard people experience in real life, but it’s never happened to you. You try to picture it, and when asked about it, you lie or try to find a similar example.
There are two things I haven’t experienced in my life till now that the majority might have felt at some point, one is inspiration and the other is Chickenpox. Not that I want to experience the latter, but yes inspiration is something I’d love to feel sometime. I think after writing this, I will add ‘experience inspiration’ in my bucket list. My bucket list is one of the most boring bucket lists you might find in the world.
Honestly after a rather up and down life which shakes you up, your bucket list sobers up. As a kid, my bucket list had things like jump off a building, go to the Amazon, and Antartica, pet a lion, etc. Now my bucket list includes things like, have a house of my own and not dying alone. Honestly, it’s mostly because, why should the list of things you want to do before you die have to be things that might speed up the process, or provide with you with more chances to allow for a premature exit?
I have always wondered how people can be inspired by other people? I tried so hard to be inspired by something or someone, but what I found was that my cynicism of what this world was didn’t allow me to see past the reality. When you focus so much on living you forget to enjoy it. This is no secret, so those who find inspiration are blessed, in my opinion.
Many times inspiration qualifies itself when it results in a positive change or outcome. It must be some saying, or somebody who moved a mountain. As a writer inspiration should be my bread and butter, but it isn’t. I will be extremely honest, I make up for the lack of inspiration with the anvil called, “This is all you know how to do, you chose your poison.” The uncertainty of tomorrow and the fear of it pushes my creativity.
Right now as I face a slump in my dissertation writing process, everyone has told me that inspiration will come, but they have conveniently omitted telling where it will come from, or how to identify it. This is a very minute problem where inspiration is concerned. But, I wonder, what inspires me to live? And again it’s the uncertainty of tomorrow. “Seizing the day” has never been my style, neither has “chasing the sun”, my style is more “Do I have to?” or “For how long?”
I don’t know what could inspire me either. I realise the onus is also on me to be receptive to inspiration. As I sit in my tower of skepticism looking down on the world that seems to please itself with things like inspiration, motivation, support and friendship my arrogance turns into a bitter feeling of loneliness and entrapment. You think you’re smarter than the world until you realise that you’re more follish than that world you ridiculed.
My reaction to a motivational quote or thought is always an eye-roll followed by sarcasm, that’s how I compensate for all my insecurities. I’ve always assumed that inspiration was beneath me, just a fantasy I didn’t have time to indulge myself in. But now I wish my eyes lit up at the thought of doing my dissertation instead of looking at it as a question with a set of half-baked answers I don’t know how to link.
I’ve had goals which I always forced myself to attain. It’s also because when I made proclamations I always backed it up with rebellion that I wanted to prove those who didn’t believe in me that I would do what they thought I couldn’t. That’s not inspiration, that’s just petulance. I’ve said that my past inspires me, I want to correct that, it reminds me what I never want to witness again so it pushes me to run as far away from it as I can. I never want to end up there again.
People tell me that inspiration comes in many forms, for each person it means something different. I honestly feel like my blog has become a glorified thesaurus that tries to pick up complicate words in the English lexicon and understand them in the grammar of a middle-class, third-world, millenial. Genuinely, from Gap year to coping with the English language, this blog has definitely seen a curious trajectory of evolution.
But, I’ll tell you why I need to contemplate these individual words, because we use them in an abundance of combinations going by how they sound and not by what they mean. While my thoughts may sound superflous, I still feel like I need this for myself, so that when I use words I am not trying to put on a facade. I guess this is my endeavour to be real through my language. Call it what you will.
It was while I was preparing for interviews and for the job hunt that inspiration became important to me as a question. What inspires me? I fib by dropping names and sayings I heard in the first grade. Have you noticed that as you go deeper into your bluff you start sounding more and more like someone else, until that point at which you completely lose yourself? There’s only so much you can do to fit in, after that you just become unrecognisable.
When I was preparing for an interview my Mum asked me in preparation, “What do you dislike?” I had only once answer, “Radish.” My mother looked torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack me. I realised maybe a job isn’t something I will ever understand, because I can’t be someone else nor can I play up my greatness by selling myself. That’s also because these requirements don’t inspire me. I am not inspired to do well on the interview, I just know I have to get a job, I am not inspired to do my dissertation I just have to do it to be done with it. I have since then realised interest isn’t inpiration.
I am amazed that despite all my soul-searching, taking a year off, beating depression, having played sports, and as a reader I am still not inspried. It’s a feat in itself. But I don’t want to sound too proud. Maybe I mistook dreams for inspiration, mistook fear for inspiration, and now I am realising that they are completely different things, because dreams are not a feeling and fear is a feeling in itself.
They say when you go you see the light, I feel like the universe is playing a joke on me. After all this, I feel like my life is going to be a long search for inspiration something waiting for me at the very end. Maybe this was my purpose all along. Who can really tell?