Skip navigation

It’s odd, isn’t it, how different people crave or abhor attention.

There’s some (well, most, actually) who want it. They almost need it, to the point where they’re actively crying out, demanding it from others in their own special way:

  • “read my journal/blog/story/poem/article, please, I beg of you, I need to be understood
  • “listen to me whine about my day, it’s been such a craptastic one, because somehow it will make be feel better”
  • “look at me, look at what I’ve done, look at what I’ve made, help me further my goal to be noticed by the world”

Of course, i really don’t think anyone’s ever actually said that…that would be really pushing the limits of needy and annoying beyond the highest reaches of anything humanely possible. *shudder*

There’s those who hide themselves away from the world, only leave the home for sanitary or survival reasons, grow their hair out to hide their face, never say a word when there’s more than two people who aren’t their closest friends or immediate family around, etc… well, to be fair, those people usually eventually get landed with a file with their name on it with a giant “mentally unstable” stamp and a prescription for happy pills, so they really don’t lend much stock to any argument that’s about “normal people”.

And me, where do I stand? Ah yes, poor little me, who has a blog that pretty much no one reads, who rarely speaks when not spoken to, blah blah blah. When I look at this blog’s stats and see that “someone” has looked at it recently, do I actually get excited that someone had noticed me? Or is that rapid beat in my chest really the feeling of loss of freedom to write whatever I damn well please because no one would read it anyway? But if I really wanted to just write whatever I wanted without being judged, would I not just keep it to myself, locked away in a solitary .docx file on my hard drive, and not on the internet? Am I just desperately trying to convince myself that I’m not really an attention-whore like all the rest of the “pathetic” and “needy” and “annoying” people out there? Am I, in cold harsh reality, just forcing myself into this little shell that my innermost self really doesn’t want to be in, which is subsequently making myself even more miserable by bottling it allllll up?

Bleh.

Then again, it’s the attention whores that get places, isn’t it? It’s those who post their creative writings everywhere who get noticed by the suits, and get published. It’s those who apply over, and over, and over again for a spot in a showcase or gallery whose art gets purchased by randoms who “just like the colour”. It’s those who break into Prince’s house with a demo CD who eventually get recorded. It’s those who shove their resumes and headshots under every door in the city who get hired. It’s those who kiss up to the boss and brag about every single little accomplishment who get promoted. You won’t get published, won’t get cast, won’t get hired, won’t get noticed if you just sulk in the soda shop day in, day out, wistfully looking out the window and wondering if a famous agent will walk in and notice you on a fluke.

Success doesn’t come to you, you’ve got to go to it.

But how much before it’s too much? Sure, by not talking about your band to anyone who’ll listen, you might miss out on some key opportunities and connections. Then again, when do you get to the point that you’re missing out on connections anyway because you talk about your band so much that everyone’s stopped listening and fails to notice when you do something really special? Aye, there’s the rub.

It’s all luck isn’t it? It’s all just luck, and charisma, and money, and blackmail, and sheer nature-vs-nurture-given talent. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s the difference between Stephenie Meyer and Cassandra Clare and Cecily Von Ziegesar and the lady who sits at home basically spitting out fantasy-fulfillment-based novels. It’s the difference between Ayn Rynd and Kierkegaard and Hitler (Mein Kampf-era) and that weird kid who sits at the back of the Poli-Sci classroom muttering to himself, scribbling into notebooks and always spouting off obnoxiously unnecessary observations. It’s the difference between Annie Leibovitz and Ansel Adams and that guy with the chunky glasses who seems permanently fused to his Canon Rebel XS. It’s the difference between the girls in the American Apparel ads and Miley Cyrus and Paris Hilton and the girls who post so many pictures of themselves on facebook it’s astounding that the server hasn’t crashed yet.

It’s a really depressing world we live in, isn’t it?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: