Don't be mistaken. The jealousy isn't creative. It comes in roaring in all the usual ways. And it makes me feel all the usual things. It is perfectly ordinary, not the least bit unique.
But it comes from this place I didn't know existed until I tried to hone my own voice.
I see their work, and I wish I saw the world that way. I wish I was braver, stranger, living on the edge of wrong, a place where a certain wild truth is found.
It isn't about their success (although the jealousy sneaks in there too). It's about the work. The images. About the art.
Sometimes is stops me. It leaves me empty and wanting.
But for now, I'm using it to move, to run in a direction that I hope will lead me where I want to go. I secretly fear it will land me in the middle of place that feels like I've been ten thousand times before and forget each time because it was so remarkably unremarkable. I've always wanted to be weirder than I am, but the truth is my truth is loud, but wholesome. A little disheveled but comfortably familiar. It feels more like home and less like an adventure.
For now I'll search for shadows, the ones made by light and the ones made by emotion.
I won't let envy stop me today.