The flowers are falling, so am I

For as long as I can remember, a full time job seemed to be the only thing that made sense. I have not seen any other examples in my immediate family. It seemed to be the pinnacle everyone aspired to. I cannot aspire to spend most of my time doing things asked of by someone else and not be the master of when I wake and when I do what I want to do. Why does it matter so much to me what time I wake up? Is this a neurodivergent thing? why am I neurodivergent?

Throwing all caution to the wind, I've decided to quit my full time job with no plan B in sight. I know I want to learn something. But I don't know and can't pick one thing to work on. Safe to say the one plan I had, an art Residency in Japan is one thing that was planned for me and decided when I would quit my full time job. Admittedly, this has also been the thing I'm most anxious about because visas don't come easy with my passport. That coupled with me being unemployed is going to make things SO MUCH harder, and I'm not sure I can accept this going any other way. I am planning a few other things to do- for instance, I want to learn to sew, learn to potter pottery, mess around with glazes, make and design new toys, art books. My first instinct is to look for a course that I can follow. All of them have rigid time structures I'm not sure my body can adapt to. I mean, if it could, I'd be doing a FULL TIME JOB. This does not mean I don't have other things lined up for the same dates. I have a random Pollinator thing in October, applied to classes and online residencies happening anytime between sep - dec. So there you have it. The autist in me has planned way too many things and the ADHD addled side wants SPONTANEITY, FUN, NO STRUCTURE, to be a little rebel without a cause once more.

A dream of mine that I'm sure shall remain a dream for times to come, is to make random things, document them in some form that is not VIDEO. Have my artist name as plus jamkay, and make crazy whimsical things and sell them if I don't care enough for them. I'd make things that help me escape the drudgery capitalism has forced us into and help me believe I live in a tiny fairy world.

As a kid, I knew for sure that I wanted to be a writer. Of fiction. Now that I'm older, I'm less sure. I'm tired of words. But words have my back, maybe a little more than drawings ever have. But the happiness from words never lasts as much as the joy of having created a reasonably satisfactory drawing.

So what do you think? Should I do this? Should I do that? Should I stay? Should I leave? Suddenly, I need to find a new way of life. If that isn't terrifying, I don't know what is. The only thing I'm sure of is that I'll keep collecting those fallen flowers.