The Written Word

Talking about not recognising my former self.

Just the other day I've realised that although I'm somewhat more comfortable with who I am at the moment, there's also a shadowy side to this recent moment of enlightenment.

I still think I should be doing more.

6 years ago I saw myself as someone who saw intellectuality, the workings of the mind, as a goal, as a way of life, something to aspire to. My heros always have been writers, people who spent most of their days thinking and translating conclusions, deliberations and observations into words who would be read by others. At the same time, I've always loved fashion, and always thought of it as a way to show the world, albeit in a superficial way, one's own ideas. It was my way to single myself out from the crowd, to challenge conventional patterns of behaviour and beauty, capturing attention of people who would be willing to trade similar ideas with me, and repel conformists.

But for me it has always been far from dignifying to spend one's day thinking about shoes, for instance. Or thinking about how to coordinate outfits. Or thinking about how to find a ridiculous amount of money to spend in a piece of (brilliantly designed, I must say) fabric. It's not how anyone with a brain should choose to spend a life in.

Then the other day I suddenly registered that that is exactly what I've doing most of my days.
Since I left the world of jobs to try and make it on my own, all I think about is shopping, seasons, celebrities, shoes, pouring over endless cuttings from Vogue and i-D and Elle, gradually assimilating 7 decades of fashion (I just reinvented myself as a vintage fashion "dealer"/ stylist). I love it. It gives me a lot of pleasure to stumble upon a gem, and it thrills me to suddenly understand what works for whom, and how to bring the coolest side of someone. But this is all TOO visual.

All my life I've trained myself to use WORDS to express myself. WRITTEN words. I don't sing, or play any instrument, I'm a horrible drawer/painter, and although I have been an above average dancer, I could never make a career out of it - or any sport, for that matter. But the written word is my instrument, is where I feel more at ease, is my hometown, my motherland, my native language. And if I spend too long away from it, with time I start feeling very, very pointless.

I might not be a very good writer, and maybe I'll never make it into fiction like I've always thought I would, someday. But it gives me pleasure to be alone in a silent room with only the tic-tic of the keyboard for soundtrack, to elaborate sentences that are not important for anybody else but me, to create passages of stories that never connect to each other, that never see a beginning or and end (that's my main ability).

To me, this is how you turn a pointless day into a rewarding one. No pair of shoes can give anyone the same joy.


Carol said...

Rá! outro post espelho...
aliás gostei muito da Another Magazine, já tinha visto alguma vez, mas agora dei uma boa olhada... o projeto é muito parecido com a revista onde estou em Barcelona, acho que podes ser uma de nossas colaboradoras.
Se este comment nao faz sentido, leia primeiro o seguinte, q comentei no post abaixo.

Carol said...

hum. nao matei o blog.
só troquei a roupa dele.
a ver...