No, seriously, what does it mean?
I think that there’s a difference between “doing what you want” and “getting what you want.” That’s a difference that has evaded me for a while, because when things didn’t go my way, I felt dejected. But that’s passivity, waiting for something to happen to you. But doing what you want, that’s active. That’s bold as shit.
I was listening to a podcast last night as I drifted into a sleep where I dreamt the apocalypse was occurring—weirdly, this is a scenario I dream about a lot, and in my dreams, I last a lot longer than I think I would in real life—and the podcast was taking about the idea of “manifestation.” It’s like the Secret, but a little less Wiccan and a little more realistic. No shade 2 Wicca.
But they were talking about manifestation and how setting positive, strong goals in your life sets you on a path towards making active choices and seeing those goals “manifest” in your life. You might want a boyfriend—that would be a manifest. Eh? I don’t know if I believe in manifestation, but I do believe there is something in active thinking.
Now, doing what you want comes in degrees. Totally doing what you want is something we like to call “dictatorship.” Not a good look. But doing what you want, making active and positive choices means that you’re not stalin your life. Get it? Stalin? Stalling? I’ll leave. No, you stay—I’ll go.
There are people who I hate, people who seem to have everything going right in their lives. They’re the ones standing at the podium, accepting the Pulitzer Prize, and I’m the one in the audience, making the jerkoff motion and rolling my eyes. To each their own. But maybe it’s less about the fact that they are “lucky” and I’m “unlucky”—anyone who’s ever seen me knows that I’m very lucky, genetics-wise, and intelligence-wise and humor-wise and charisma-wise, and wise-wise (v, v wise)—and more that they are making choices that direct them towards their goals.
I have goals. I have dreams—prophetic ones, but also career ones. So if I have some sort of dream, what the fuck am I doing to make them happen? If the answer is nothing—I’m not going to answer because I’m afraid of the answer—then I should kick myself. Because WHY AM I WAITING?
I was walking back to my apartment from class the other day—like Friday? Idk, I’m not a historian—and I had had a bit of a downer week. Class was stressful, and not in a “fun, running around, hectic” stress kind of way, but in a “I WANT TO SLASH YOUR TIRES” stress kind of way. But the week was over, and I was buoyed by the thought of the weekend, and I realized that life is finite and we’re all going to die, one by one, until the void swallows Earth whole like a python swallowing a wild pig in the Amazon.
Well, I didn’t think exactly that because I’m in therapy and on medication and stable, but I thought, “Why the fuck am I not doing what I want?” I’m used to mostly getting my way—when you talk as loud as I do, it’s kind of a given that people will give you what you want so that you shut up—but I’m really bad about seeking out what I want. I let things happen to me.
And for what? It’s not like great things are plopping into my lap. Everything that’s a positive in my life is something that I sought out, or something that I was passionate about. Even this grand old hooker of a blog started because I was like, “I HAVE THOUGHTS.”
For noxample (not an example, because I’m shielding the actual occurrence behind lies) I decided to bake cookies. I’ve baked cookies before, but it never really turned out great. It was always at the wrong time—too close to dinner—and it always ended up not great. I would get nauseous, or not hungry, or I wouldn’t want them. But I thought about what I wanted—I wanted cookies. So I thought, “What am I going to do to get them?” I have to be annoying and bold and bake those cookies. They might not end up the way I want, but if I don’t bake them, and I still want them, then the only person I have to blame is myself. And that’s not something I’m comfortable with—being the one to stand in my own way.
The cookies didn’t work out. Maybe I didn’t add the flour, or the sugar—idk, this is a fake example and I don’t know how to make cookie dough. And I burnt my fingers. And it sucks. But at least I fucking tried. And at least I decided to do what I want. I’ve wasted so many hours and seconds, agonizing over what to do, that the relief of making a decision—any decision—makes the blow of not having the cookies I want soften.
We should do what we want, and be okay with not getting what we want. I’m bad at it. I’m bad at manifestation, because I take every speed bump as a road block. I let the fear of burnt fingers stop me from making cookies. But even though I scalded my fingers and burnt the cookies and fucked everything up, I don’t regret it. Because I did it.
I’m getting hungry/missing Ina Garten, so I’m going to stop talking about cookies. Even though it wasn’t actually about cookies; I’m stupid, so I’m thinking about actual cookies now. Snickerdoodle. UGH.