Can I declare my own lost decade? Or is that something I need to leave up to my biographer?
I haven't been able to work much this week, so I've been doing some account cleanup. Trying to optimize my 1Password vault, I guess, which is an upsettingly mundane thing to feel is worth telling you. As part of this cleanup, I was going to delete my ancient Google account. Before deleting an account, you're presented with a summary of everything you'll lose. In that summary were a couple old Blogger blogs I'd forgotten about.
I spent this evening reading through them, barely recognizing the young, excited, ambitious, creative, and prolific artist and person I used to be. I was no more successful then than I am now, but dammit, I was trying. I was trying so hard, and I was enjoying it. I was proud of what I was doing, in a way. It felt righteous and just and like a good investment of mind and body. What happened to that? What happened to me?
Now I'm out of shape, out of practice, and out of ... it. But I'm writing this to remind myself that I don't have to be. That I can choose to be more like my old self. I don't need to be lazy and scared and distractable.
There was a time when I could write. I could draw. I could paint. I could go out in the middle of the night and climb up the side of a government building to wheatpaste or spraypaint images of dissent. What I was for and against was probably less clearly defined than what I claim to be for and against now, but I believe I felt it more deeply. There wasn't this numbness. This flatness. This defeat.
I hereby declare the last decade my lost decade, and I aim to live up to that.