Yet Another Pursuit
2026-06-29
Since I started my job search, the leads I've been using have gone cold. I know I have to send out another wave of applications and make more phone calls, but I've been reconsidering whether I even have the capacity to go back to work. The most prescient fear I face is that of uncertainty; even during extended periods of remission, I fear a time when the stress gets too heavy and I burn out, collapse, and find myself back at square one. I know I'd perform well in whatever job I could muster, particularly a white-collar one; however, the worry isn't my performance, but the sustainability of it. It's a strange thing to deal with: being too exhausted to self-start. More than that, when I do get waves of energy, I find myself acting on impulse rather than maintaining a smooth, consistent output throughout the months and years. Everyone has bad days, but I have bad seasons—entire stretches of time where every day feels worse than the last, and the anguish I feel makes life so unbearable that I have to fall into a hole just to catch my breath.
I don't know. I really like what I do here, and there's a certain sanctity in this little system of content production. Things don't pan out very well for most people in this space, and I don't expect myself to do this for a living anytime soon. However, there's more relief in doing it to live, and that's fine with me for now. I just can't believe I've kept pace for this long, and the growth I've seen reflects that. My worry, though, is that I'm not doing enough. Even in this one-man publication, I wonder what more I could be doing. However, I know that certain parts of this project are a relief to my readers. It's a distraction-free environment that doesn't ask for too much attention and allows for a more intentional praxis of reading something that actually feels like a tangible thought. It's not a massive undertaking, and I want to keep a certain level of restraint in my vision. More than that, I want to keep my motivation to write intact, lest I burn out and go cold for several months.
There's a weird desire to be constantly interesting and thought-provoking, especially this far in. There are plenty of days where that happens, but not always. As I consider my own media consumption, I wonder how well I'm doing in being an intentional curator of thought; hopefully, it doesn't feel like more of the same. As a writer, the most important tool any of us have is our voice, and it's one that gets developed over long stretches of time—especially since writing comes most directly from life experience. I know I've mentioned this before, and I don't care to dig through the archives to find my previous iteration of this idea, but there's a reason why the average age of a Pulitzer winner is 49. More life experience allows for more curation of thought and a greater chance to refine that voice. It takes not just talent to command the page, but a deep resonance with the work. As much as it is a lifetime pursuit to write, it is equally so the pursuit of curating the best influences.
That's why the best writers are also the most widely read. It takes many years to go through the annals of history and find the things that most speak to us. The beauty of the internet comes from being able to do this faster and at an unprecedented volume; but it's also why writing is such a competitive medium. Everyone spends their time curating swathes of information, and true taste is harder to find than ever as a result of this monstrous volume of work to parse. And it's not just stuff that's historically good; there's so much contemporary work to comb through, and much of that curation involves wrestling with biases since the works are hotter and more lived-in as a reader. Reading through other blogs and contemporary publications forces me to compare them with myself and wonder, "Can I really do that?" or "Do I even want to replicate this?" I know I have the potential to be unique and interesting, and my hope is for that to resonate with the right people despite my idiosyncrasies and self-imposed constraints.
Ultimately, I know that I'm doing the best I can by writing through things in this way. It helps me think, even if the feedback mechanisms are slower, more minimal, and less driven toward collective engagement. Having to take these days where I rationalize the veracity of my work makes me feel insecure about writing, but I also understand that much of the ethos behind computers revolves around the freedom of this type of expression, and my intention is less to be paid attention to and more to be honest. Can I say for sure that I'm captivating one's attention with these metacognitive self-critiques? Maybe sometimes, but not always. The language itself can be a bit dense, that much I know for sure. However, finding a sense of art in being dense yet intelligible has been a wonderful exercise in my own communication skills. It makes me optimistic in my pursuit of truth, and hopefully, this small beacon I have can help someone else find that light, however they decide to project themselves onto this prose.
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