Case of the Curious Girl

One thing about me: every bad decision I’ve ever made has come from an infinite level of curiosity and a desperate desire to feel something.

As much as I love how intrigued I am by life, by people, by experiences, by the possibility of what could happen, I also know that desire can take me somewhere I can’t always find my way back from. So I’ve spent years trying to control it.

I could probably never do drugs because I’d get addicted. I’ve never understood a light sip and chat. If we’re drinking, can we actually get faded? If it’s love, let it be consuming. If it’s sex, let it feel infinite. I’ve never been interested in casual feelings. I want the whole thing.

Which is probably why I’ve built a personality around control.

Lately, though, I’ve been struggling with the idea of balance. Bad decisions are only fun when you think you know how they’ll end. Curiosity doesn’t offer that. It asks you to walk toward something without promising you’ll like who you are when you get there.

I’ve been writing more lately. Thinking a lot about the next stage of my life, the kind of art I want to make, and the artists I can’t stop thinking about.

I think the difference between artists I love and artists who simply want to be loved is devotion.

Not talent. Not even discipline.

Devotion.

A willingness to follow their curiosity further than everyone else would.

If you want to become something, you have to rebuild your world around it. That’s the part no one talks about anymore. Somewhere along the way, we’ve started shaming people for going all in, especially artists. Everything has to be ironic now. Detached. Self aware enough that you can always pretend you didn’t really mean it.

But if you’re going to be a lover, shouldn’t you be devoted to love?

If you’re going to be an It Girl, shouldn’t you commit to the fantasy?

If you’re going to be an artist, shouldn’t you let your curiosity ruin your plans a little?

I think what scares me is that curiosity and devotion can take you so far away from yourself that one day there’s no ground to come back to.

Maybe that’s the risk.

Or maybe the person you’re trying to get back to was never the point.