Blank Page Syndrome.
When people ask me what my hobbies are, I always reply with some variation of "I'm an artist".
It's what I've always done, what I'll always do. A label so ingrained in my identity, it's the main word others use to describe me. Despite this, during the past years I've found myself thinking about art much more than actually making it. More than an artist, I'm an idea machine. My life perceptions are nothing more than fuel for the sake of reinterpretation.
Poetic bullshit aside, I'm tired of planning my dreams; for once, I want to finish them.
I'm aware that I have a considerable amount of projects uploaded; but they are not even 5% of all the ideas I have. The stuff I've put out so far have felt more like giving birth than the fun, easy-going process of my youth.
After years of introspection, the problem revealed itself to me: I am terrified of the blank page. Not the actual physical sheet of paper, but the metaphorical starting point. I'm terrified that, if I make my ideas a reality, they will turn out to be dog shit. And then, what kind of artist does that make me? Would I even deserve the title?
But there's other things as well. What if my real life acquaintances find my account? What if I struggle to find a job after graduation because of my digital footprint?
Or maybe I'm just afraid that if I speak my mind I'll run out of things to say. But the alternative, of taking those thoughts to my grave, is even worse.
So I just suck it up, and with the right combination of inspiration, deadlines and fear, I keep going.