In my group text, we got on a discussion about legacy. Yes, I'm in a group text. Yes, I'm hip cool and young. As it turns out, 1 person doesn't give a shit, the rest of us are obsessed with the idea of legacy.
Legacy is a weird thing to think about and it's ultimately meaningless. It's the ego crying for attention so desperately it wants to span generations. I'm not cool with how obsessed I am with having a legacy, but that doesn't stop my mind from wanting.
But like, my scrubass brain has not created anything in which to create a legacy. I leave all the fun stuff locked in there for no one else to see. My brain is just like "IF I PUT IN ALL THE WORK AND NOTHING COMES OF IT, WHAT'S THE POINT???" That's called depression btw. It'll fuck with you. Clearly, if you don't create anything, your chances of love and affection for your creations becomes 0%.
I've really put some dedication to my creative projects in the past month and it's super exciting to see them flourish. I finally have some ideas that feel like the path I want to be on, for now. I've been throwing spaghetti at the walls for years and hoping something sticks. I still have a couple pots boiling, but one of them is definitely going to be fully cooked. (Did I do the analogy thing right?)
I've tried thinking about legacy in a new way, inspired by an episode of Frasier. I love Frasier, it's a solid sitcom. It was a simple moment. Martin Crane, daddy Frasier, was talking to Daphne, "Oh! Did I ever tell you about the sickness of 1980? My stomach was so bad!" I totally ad-libbed that, but you get the idea. It was an old man story. I was just like OH SHIT, your legacy is the stories you can tell as an older person. I can manage that!
I'm feeling pretty good about myself.
We'll see what mental illness has to say. WUB-A-LUB-A-DUB-DUB!