I tend to become obsessed with things–shows, genres of music, actors, games, you name it– frequently. Most of the obsessions fade in a manner of months, some become genuine passions and, while my interest ebbs and flows, I constantly care about them.
I’m also very easily influenced by the speech patterns of those around me. It took me two weeks of having a college roommate from Texas to begin saying “y’all” and I even begin speaking like the characters of television shows if I watch them frequently enough. Every phrase I say came from someone else. I mean, sometimes I say clever things, but the delivery or style or topic was not my own and I can usually trace it.
Same goes with my writing… which makes it entertaining that I’m writing about my lack of originality, but I shall persevere. People tell me I’m a good writer, but I can’t help but see it as pathetic and gimmicky. We had to write false horoscopes in psychology class in high school and mine was so convincing people thought I had copied it directly. I had to write a toast for a wedding, so I drew upon all the ones I’ve heard in the movies and on TV and I created one in the same format. Even this, right now: I write in threes because I’ve heard people do it and I understand how important it makes things seem.
I like to think of my self as artistic or, at the very least, creative, but sometimes I wonder whether there’s an original bone in my body. There’s always a chance that (in some obnoxious snobbish way) no one is original and I’m just constantly connecting the dots back to the roots of my ideas, but it doesn’t make me any more unique.
I worry it cheapens me and my ideas. None of my ideas are really my own. They’re just combinations of other ideas I’ve heard, told to fresh ears or manifested in a slightly different way. I don’t know if my ideas really are worthless or not, but I guess it’s all I’ve got.
I feel small.