0009 | Forty-two. Forty-two. Forty-two.

It's a mantra for today. A reminder. I am working in a world in which the qualities of the creative are openly diminished. There is an explicit demand for talent, and creativity, for insight into what people will respond to, for an enhanced experience, and then an implicit demand for conformity, insensitivity, and relative disengagement. And corporate management wonders why their projects go sideways and people are so terribly unhappy and sick. It is a world full of lies and posturing, and for some reason, I have knocked on its door, it has invited me in, and I have strolled willingly into the the muck.

There is a lesson for me here. In a world of people with an authority that I can either recognize or not, I can choose not to believe their devaluing of the qualities that they desired in the first place. I am sensitive. I take things personally. I am very personal. I am actually extraordinarily sensitive. These traits are intrinsic to my intelligence, not in spite of it. This is a time for me to learn to articulate the value of what I bring and not let myself be convinced that somehow I am less for being a different kind of brilliant. This is a chance for me to learn a mindfulness that I have not had to learn yet. To be self-aware when I find myself morphing into something less myself, less beautiful, more base. I have to find kinder, clearer ways to communicate with people who function at a lower EQ. Those words I conjure cannot be simply words: calm, clear, kind, inquisitive. I have to live them, especially when the world is pressing on me to be otherwise. I'm going to find a punching bag now. (What? This shit doesn't just go away because I looked at it. I still have to do the work.)