I Hate Being a Writer in New York City
The thing is, once that fear started to settle in, my writing collectively started to take a turn for the worse. I started to care less about making anything happen through writing. I started to put less effort into writing and I nearly lost interest in it completely.

I felt inadequate, unmotivated, and irrelevant. Plus, the struggle to not compare myself to others was a losing battle in and of itself. Witnessing the overflow of new content that was published each day created this constant pressure for me to keep publishing [anything] to the point where the quality of my writing began to suffer due to the mass quantities in which I was producing.

I started to hate calling myself a Writer. I was ashamed to even consider myself as one. And the thing that I hated most was being a Writer in New York City. I hated knowing that there were so many others out there, just in this city alone, who were so much more talented, more intellectual, more creative, more focused, more driven than me. I hated it so much that I made myself become a statistic — I became another one of the many people who called it quits before things really started happening…Though, I wouldn’t say I’m down and out quite yet — After all, I did write this article.

Instead, I’d say, I’m taking it slow. I’m taking it down a few notches and I’m trying to find that raw passion that once drove me to writing in the first place. Maybe if I keep digging for that, then something good will come from it. Maybe.
['Lindsey', 'Lazarte']
['Personal Development', 'Writing', 'Life Lessons', 'Self', 'Productivity']