If I write, and no-one reads it, is my writing pointless? If I share it, am I seeking approval, or do I merely want to offer what I have to give? Does it matter?
I routinely take steps to take myself out of the race. Any race, the race that says I have to have that kind of job, that apartment, that boyfriend, those children, that saving account which enables me my early holiday. I do that by stepping back and pondering. I don’t own stuff. I don’t own a couch. I don’t own a TV. I don’t even own a bed. All I want to own is what I can take with me. I don’t have much desire to buy stuff. Even if I did it would just be for show. Getting an iPhone would be for show. Buying more expensive clothes than I have need for would be for show.
Experiences however, I like those. Universities offer experiences, language school offers experiences, even an au-pair job offers experiences. Traveling offer oh-so-many experiences, memories, and they belong to me. That is not a race to me. That is living to me. Exhilaration, exploration, calmness. It’s being able to breath. It’s getting away from the race, the comparison. The people you meet have different experiences, too different to really compare them to mine and find myself lacking.
That’s what it is all about. To be happy with who you are. To live without comparison. To share without it being a way to make yourself a brand, without trying to sell anything, whether that is your wits, your company, your product. That’s where I fail to stand out in the digital world. Why I have nothing to say that will be retweeted, that will be shared on any platform. Because I haven’t formulated a message. Because I’m not making myself out to be someone indispensable to you. Because I’m not the next sensation. Because all I want – is to be.