Nocturne #50 – FIN

And on the fiftieth night, most likely, I will write the final paragraphs of my public diary, the nocturnes… Okay, okay, yeah, it’s really over. The curtain falls.

Don’t think this is just another dramatic monologue where I feel sorry for myself and then wake up in the same swamp tomorrow morning. This is not a play. This is a funeral. Today I am burying someone who knew me very well. More accurately, someone I thought was me.

Today I say goodbye to Zura, the “Paused Frame.” That guy with a head full of brilliant ideas and feet heavy as lead ingots. The one who always started living “tomorrow.” That artist whose “masterpieces” existed only on his metaphorical shelf, filed away in organized folders on his operating system, hidden in an ideal, sterile, dust-free world where the longed-for audience simply doesn’t exist.

His greatest weakness was comfort. Oh, how he loved the comfort of suffering! That safe, warm armchair called procrastination. My old friend, “Proki,” who constantly whispered in my ear: “Dude, forget it, there’s still time… You’re a genius, right? Geniuses aren’t in a hurry”. And I believed him. Because for me, sweeter than the fear of failure was only the illusion of never fighting.

And what was I most afraid of? That if I really made all this public, it would turn out that I’m not as special as I am in my fantasies. I was afraid that my “brilliant” music, my “bestseller” novel, my “inspiring” film, would, in reality, just turn out… mediocre.

“Proki” was my guardian angel for avoiding this discomfort. He protected me from reality. He allowed me to be potential – undefeated, unrated, mythical.

But you know what? Fuck it.

I’d rather be a failed artist than a successful coward. I’d rather someone see my works, like them or not, criticize them, mock them, than for them not to exist at all. So, starting today, I begin doing what I feared most – finishing.

What is the first, smallest, but real step I will take tomorrow? I won’t write grandiose plans. I won’t start writing the Ninth Symphony. Tomorrow, I’ll simply organize my daily schedule, open that abandoned project on my computer that I’ve been avoiding for months. Doesn’t matter which one. I’ll open it and add even one note. Change even one word. Or just look at it for 10 minutes and remind myself that it exists. It exists, and it’s waiting for me. And the day after? What will I do the day after? I’ll figure that out tomorrow.

This is the end of my contract with imposter syndrome. This is a unilateral divorce from my despicable demon of pessimism. He’ll still be here, I know, he’ll try to stop me again, but this time, I’ll answer him with headphones on, playing the unmixed sounds of my own demo music.

This is not a promise that everything will change tomorrow. This is a decision that I will change. And if you, who are reading this, recognize yourself in my words… if you also have your personal, fluffy, and comfortable “Proki”… maybe it’s time you wrote your fiftieth nocturne too.

This is the second part of my “55 Meters,” in which I completely destroy the remnants of that failed Zura! May the earth rest lightly upon him. Or not, who cares. I’m no longer there.

P.S. Proki just contacted me via my mind’s messenger: “Broo, no worries, I’m leaving, yeah… But, I’ll take my stuff tomorrow, okay? I’m really lazy today.” I guess getting rid of him won’t be that easy… 🤔