"Good painters don't paint like this. But I paint like this." And it's okay to paint the way you paint because imitation is suicide.
It is unbelievably hot today: it's now almost 9 pm and it's positively sweltering. Oh, how I miss the London weather, rain and all. The London summer is good for someone like myself, it's the winter that drags me down. And I'm not going to ever be one of those types of people who can spend 6 months here and six months there. Forget the fact that I'm dirt poor, it wouldn't be environmentally sound at all.
So Rogerian theory tells us to be who we are, not to please others, not as we 'ought' to be. Be the fluid process of who we are in this moment and embrace all the contradictions this being entails. That's almost exactly what Emerson is saying in his essay. Be who you are in the moment, forgetting all of who you were before. But, what happens when you are trying to be 'in the moment of being' and you still end up regretting actions or thoughts? Rogers has an answer for that as well.
"Freedom to be oneself is a frighteningly responsible freedom, and an individual moves towards it cautiously, fearfully, and with almost no confidence at first.
Nor would I want to give the impression that he always makes sound choices. To be responsibly self-directing means that one chooses - and then learns from the consequences. So clients find this a sobering but exciting kind of experience."
My living in London is going to be filed in my consciousness as a dream that's basically wish-fulfillment. I have to focus on getting better and since it didn't happen in London, I am willing to try for eight months here. Four of those months have passed already. In a week, it will have been an entire year since I've graduated. That makes me feel ashamed on so many counts.
However, let's think. So what if I haven't a job? Why am I pressurising myself to get one right now when I have to focus on recuperating and rejuvenating myself? Obviously, I haven't been created in vain. I serve some purpose, even if it is as profane as being a psychiatric patient or a cross to bear for both of my parents. But I am sure I will play my part in other things too. I trust in Him that much, at least.
It feels as though I am digging myself further into this vale which I find myself in, so I cannot realistically fathom what is on the hill beyond. All I see is dirt and mire, when I should be appreciating this time I have off.
Who knows when I will get this chance again to write as I am now, to read as I do, to think?
As long as I try to make my thoughts more creative than the cyclical nature they have been in for so many months. They all just end up following the same pattern:
"I need to figure out what my next move is... why can't I figure out what I want to do as a career? I want to help people, but at the same time, I can't bear to deal with them... everyone else has figured out what they want to do with their life... even if it's not their dream job, they are still working and earning a paycheck to pay the bills... I am such a spoilt person... I can't do anything... I suck... I don't deserve to live because I am wasting my life... I haven't a clue what I want to do with my life... I need to do something... should I go into teaching, even though I hate it? I wonder what my mum is thinking... how long before she gets fed up with me? I can't go to London because of my dad and his rants... I need to figure out what to do with my life..."
And it just goes on and on. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Merde. Dare I tell myself to cut me some slack?
It is unbelievably hot today: it's now almost 9 pm and it's positively sweltering. Oh, how I miss the London weather, rain and all. The London summer is good for someone like myself, it's the winter that drags me down. And I'm not going to ever be one of those types of people who can spend 6 months here and six months there. Forget the fact that I'm dirt poor, it wouldn't be environmentally sound at all.
So Rogerian theory tells us to be who we are, not to please others, not as we 'ought' to be. Be the fluid process of who we are in this moment and embrace all the contradictions this being entails. That's almost exactly what Emerson is saying in his essay. Be who you are in the moment, forgetting all of who you were before. But, what happens when you are trying to be 'in the moment of being' and you still end up regretting actions or thoughts? Rogers has an answer for that as well.
"Freedom to be oneself is a frighteningly responsible freedom, and an individual moves towards it cautiously, fearfully, and with almost no confidence at first.
Nor would I want to give the impression that he always makes sound choices. To be responsibly self-directing means that one chooses - and then learns from the consequences. So clients find this a sobering but exciting kind of experience."
My living in London is going to be filed in my consciousness as a dream that's basically wish-fulfillment. I have to focus on getting better and since it didn't happen in London, I am willing to try for eight months here. Four of those months have passed already. In a week, it will have been an entire year since I've graduated. That makes me feel ashamed on so many counts.
However, let's think. So what if I haven't a job? Why am I pressurising myself to get one right now when I have to focus on recuperating and rejuvenating myself? Obviously, I haven't been created in vain. I serve some purpose, even if it is as profane as being a psychiatric patient or a cross to bear for both of my parents. But I am sure I will play my part in other things too. I trust in Him that much, at least.
It feels as though I am digging myself further into this vale which I find myself in, so I cannot realistically fathom what is on the hill beyond. All I see is dirt and mire, when I should be appreciating this time I have off.
Who knows when I will get this chance again to write as I am now, to read as I do, to think?
As long as I try to make my thoughts more creative than the cyclical nature they have been in for so many months. They all just end up following the same pattern:
"I need to figure out what my next move is... why can't I figure out what I want to do as a career? I want to help people, but at the same time, I can't bear to deal with them... everyone else has figured out what they want to do with their life... even if it's not their dream job, they are still working and earning a paycheck to pay the bills... I am such a spoilt person... I can't do anything... I suck... I don't deserve to live because I am wasting my life... I haven't a clue what I want to do with my life... I need to do something... should I go into teaching, even though I hate it? I wonder what my mum is thinking... how long before she gets fed up with me? I can't go to London because of my dad and his rants... I need to figure out what to do with my life..."
And it just goes on and on. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Merde. Dare I tell myself to cut me some slack?
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