Three Perfectly Good Reasons...
So far in this little introduction to the world according to Sten (that's me, btw) I've told you that I did have a plan, but the universe decided to be a dick and set it on fire.
So far in this little introduction to the world according to Sten (that’s me, btw) I've told you that I did have a plan, but the universe decided to be a dick and set it on fire. Figuratively speaking.
I’ve talked about amassing an impressive amount of debt in order to acquire a degree, aka the key to the creative and cultural industries where artistically minded introverts like myself may be gainfully employed. I’ve also mentioned that I’ve struggled with gargantuan levels of anxiety and depression since childhood, possibly due to undiagnosed neurodivergence.
Today, I thought I would build on that by talking about why, as someone who recoils at the thought of being in the spotlight, I became an artist. And that takes us all the way back to a six-year-old boy who didn’t quite fit into the stereotype of what he should be like.
I remember seeing two other boys in our pre-school bonding over their love of drawing. They had so much fun, and I wanted so badly to get in on that.
Initially, it was all about the camaraderie, but as a child with anxiety and a speech impediment, I think I was drawn to creative expression. Over the next six years I fell in love with arts, games, music, and storytelling, and I spent most of my time immersing myself into fictional worlds. It paved the way for me to attend a local arts college (where I got my GCSEs and A-levels in arts, photography, and design) before moving on to university.
But herein lies the problem.
The point of any creative endeavour (outside of what we do just because we enjoy it) is to put our work, and by extension, ourselves, out there. The work is not complete until it’ published. I understand that, but the idea of “success” has always scared the hell out of me.
I have had many opportunities to grow a bigger following and capitalise on my skills, but I have a tendency to self-sabotage and keep myself tucked away in the cosy comfort zone that is my home, my family, my girlfriend, and my cats. I love it here, but I want more.
Moving to a new, safe, and affordable place was a big step forward. There is no more external chaos to hide behind now, but I still have daily battles with my old friends, Anxiety and Imposter Syndrome. They keep telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve to have what I’m dreaming of, and that privacy is better than failure.
Truth is, there’s a part of me that believes them. But with coaching and some degree of gentle arm-twisting, I spent the first couple of months after the move taking stock of my situation and weighing up my choices.
I could have looked for a better paid job and accepted that my creative side is a ridiculously expensive hobby. Alternatively, I could put myself out there and do what I had been planning to do from the start.
That may sound like a simple choice, but it wasn’t. Still isn’t.
Anxiety really is a bitch, and the thought of going pro with all that entails made me feel sick, but it was time for me to finally speak up about my dreams and aspirations. To nail down my goals, keep myself accountable by sharing them, and learn to acknowledge what I’ve accomplished instead of hyper-focussing on what I haven’t.
It was a co-incidence that I stumbled across a challenge called Ko‑fi Sharetember last year, but the timing could not have been better. The objective was to set yourself the goal of putting out 25 pieces of content in one month to get yourself off to a good start or to revitalise your online presence.
I decided to get on that because I thought it would help me bring together the three things or sides to me that I want to build this “platform” on. I guess you could say they are my three perfectly good reasons for doing this starving indie creative thing:
I have a dream: I want to work and I want to be able to settle down with my girlfriend. I believe in the projects I’ve been working on, and in the ones I have on the slush pile. It would take some time, but it’s not entirely unrealistic to think I could make a living out of this. Like art, dreams have to be shared and this challenge is based on a simple idea – just build your platform and share it.
I need a challenge: I could easily get stuck just thinking of all the problems and obstacles I’m going to face, and I’ve turned self-deprecation into an art form. To make my dreams come true, I need a space where I can share my artwork and other digital products. If I can stick to the challenge, I may actually have a fully functional creative platform by the end of this year.
I want to share: Well, want may be too strong a word here, but I’m not going to shy away from talking about my mental health. It’s hard to put yourself out there when you are your own worst critic, and I know many people have felt the same at some point or to some degree. I’m still figuring out how to live with my issues and be creative, and I think it would be helpful to share the journey with anyone who can relate. And anyone who just wants to be supportive and tag along to see where this road leads.
I don’t know if I’ve ever posted 25 random pieces of content in a month, so this challenge took me way out of my comfort zone. (Spoiler alert: I “only” made it to 20 back in September) But I wasn’t doing it for the sake of the challenge. It was an attempt to hold myself accountable and force myself to keep moving forward, one step at a time. And it worked.
So, here we are. I don’t know if this will be another 25 posts in a month challenge, but I’ve been lurking on Substack long enough, doing behind the scenes work on The Resilience and writing my weekly space serial. The captain is calling for increased crew engagement and I have a fairly busy autumn schedule ahead of me, so this may be the perfect time to level up my online presence.
Four posts done - 21 to go.
Until next time,
Sten