Her Life and The Grandma

My grandma rang me earlier today. But that's nice, you might think. Except that no.
I'm not even going to start by saying: "Don't get me wrong for she is a lovely person, but.." because she isn't a lovely person. I'm not saying she's a horrible person either but no, definitely not a lovely one. I suppose it is nearly blasphemy to even think something negative about elderly people - especially one's own grandparents but guess what, I am too tired to consider that a problem right now.
There is another issue I can come up with, however.

You see, in order for me to be writing about this, there must be an issue there to be written about.
And here it comes.

My dear old grandmother has an infallible ability to make me feel like a useless piece of shit whose life choices are primarily a) reckless, b) silly, c) immature and d) plain wrong. Or something along those lines. Most of the time I graciously ignore her attitude since I've always walked my own paths unusual to her view of the world. In my current situation though, I find this manner of reasoning increasingly hard to be clung to. Let me explain why.

As you may or may not know, I'm studying Photographic Art in a Welsh university but am currently on the summer holiday in my home country, Finland. Regardless of months of trying, I haven't been able to find myself a summer job. However, I am in the fortunate position of an offspring of relatively wealthy, generous and supportive parents who wouldn't hear a word of me getting stressed about financial matters. In other words, I get to spend my free art student life a year round - I mean I could if I wasn't such a perfectionist by nature. I don't enjoy being so dependent on my family after two summers of earning quite a lot for working five days (or nights) a week.
Now, don't get me wrong for I haven't been merely sitting on my ever-growing ass since May like some spoilt princess. I'm working on two photography related projects, which I really, really hope will turn out something worth exhibiting in the end because otherwise I'll seriously start questioning the purpose of my existence. 'Working on' so far, has among other things included borrowing half the books of the city library, wandering in the woods in the search for possible shooting locations, transforming a tiny flat into a dance studio and back, making countless notes about old Finnish goddesses, choreographing at a public grass field, and diagnosing both myself and everybody I know with panic and/or anxiety disorders after studying the subject too closely. I also visited two amazing photography exhibitions, and should write reviews about them as soon as I can get myself too stressed about the upcoming deadline.
So I haven't been completely passive. I even did two graduation photoshoots and my first ever wedding job (which by the way, was awesome and super-exhausting), all of which have made my wallet a teeny bit fatter, and me a lot, lot happier.
I couldn't find anything related to illustrate this post so have this Ring Tailed baby instead.
Where was I?

Ok, so grandma and my life.

At the present state of affairs, regardless of how much I like doing my stuff whenever I want and however I want, I do find it hard to justify this way of living even to myself. I mean that I feel this constant, self-induced pressure to be productive and useful part of society - to make money, to get important things done, all that crap. When I'm in a positive mood, I feel excited about my projects and what small steps I daily take to realise my ideas. At times, I can overlook the fact that I'm in no way making a living or being useful to anyone, because some day - I keep telling myself - someone will pay me for this job.
At other times, looking at my life makes me just want to rewind everything and become someone normal with a full-time job and a future.
It's not that my grandma has ever called me a waste of space straight to my face or anything like that; it is her tone of voice and how disappointed she always sounds when I, for a millionth time tell her how little luck I've had in the mission of getting myself employed. I can sense how much she's judging me even through the phone - that prolonged silence and the "ah, well, alright". She makes me want to hide from all of humanity in shame. It is very, extremely hard not to judge myself even as it is, not to mention after a merry telephone conversation such as that. I don't know if I'll be an artist who makes her living through photography some day. I can't know. And so, I don't know how to make this freedom that I enjoy now, feel like something I deserve, something that I can make into something good in the prospect of my future. The least thing that I need is a member of family telling me what a loser I am when I'm not quite sure whether that's actually the truth or not.

It's like I'm on this boat and some nasty winds and waves are trying to rock me over. The worst thing is that I don't even know where I'm sailing in or to, and what would I sink into should my ship break down.

And apparently I have also lost any pathetic piece of writing ability that I ever may have possessed so here we are again, with a mess of a blogpost and a puddle of bitter tears.

Have a good day.

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