Aspiring artists on social media will see a bunch of pro-vulnerability posts promoting courage in the face of real or imagined judgement from others.⁠
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That’s great—but they don't quite speak to me, personally. ⁠
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My fears are more born of imposter syndrome. I worry I’m not qualified to share an opinion or write a story. Who asked for more content from an under-educated and over-privileged dude sipping on $10 pints? Why would I think my thoughts are worth sharing? How can I expect to take up someone’s valuable time with my nonsense? ⁠
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I feel like publishing anything is like…imposing on your lives.⁠
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It’s not just about me and my feelings. It’s about the effect I have on others.⁠
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And that’s about more than vulnerability. That takes audacity. ⁠
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That means annoying some people, with the vain notion that others still want to hear it. ⁠
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That means unjustified confidence—a belief that our thing is worth sharing even if no one asked to see it.⁠
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I want more of it, though: more after-hour poets throwing out bars; more four-chord musicians writing songs; more armchair philosophers ranting about life. More audacity.⁠
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I don’t care if it’s good. I don’t care if someone's perspective is valid. And I’m not asking anyone to openly praise anyone else.⁠
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I just want the stakes to be lower. I want us to stop asking, “why would they even think to make that?” I want the reckless sharing of half-baked art to be normal.⁠
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And why shouldn't it be? We can, after all, just scroll past things that don't do it for us. (Which you are now free to do here.)