Sunday, February 11, 2024
I quit academia.
I quit my marriage.
I quit my life.
After it all fell apart, in a period of intense anxiety, depression and weekly therapy, I picked up a pen and started sketching things in my journals. My first sketches were like pissing rusty razors.
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Ged, lost in the Tombs of Atuan |
I hadn't drawn anything in 20 years.
Things didn't look like what I wanted them to look like.
It was frightening.
Academia had entrained me to the life of the academic, where rationality was valued above all else. Artistic endeavours were seen as cute hobbies that, at best, distracted a real academician from their scholarly productivity. Over that fifteen year span, I had helplessly watched my creative and artistic skills dessicate.
It was a terrifying realization that I might not be able to create things like I did when I was 17 years old anymore. Even more sobering was the possibility that my creative soul was beyond rehydration.
