My Own Goliath

I’ve had some time to think lately.

Remember last entry, when I spoke a bit about change- about people coming and going, and life moving?

I’d say I’m at an axis point right now.

Welcome to the ripe old age of 25- coming to you live in only a couple of months. And almost like clockwork, I’ve begun to see signs that a major transition is heading my way.

My transition periods are usually prefaced by this urgent sense of dread. Before I know what’s next, I begin to feel that something isn’t quite right.

Usually, I begin to look at myself as the issue. I begin to doubt who I am, the way I make people feel, and what I’m doing.

Like clockwork, something always arrives.

Suddenly, I’ll meet someone new. A friendship, a love. Suddenly, I’ll have an opportunity to move across the U.S. 

Everything is falling into place a little too cleanly right now. I’m being vague. I’ll tell you about it later.

I’ve been thinking a bit about what I believe in.

You know that constant question: the “why now, God? Why me?”

I’ve begun to realize that my god is the narrative. The narrative is the purpose. The movement, the dynamism, is the point. 

And when that becomes god, everything matters. Suddenly every setting, object, and person becomes its own archetype. They are all critical to the theme. They all serve the story.

But I’ve found that I crave the propulsion while simultaneously fearing it.

One way that I tend to do this: I build a monolith to rebel against. 

Iowa was my Goliath at one point. Eventually it became Ohio. For a while it was Boston: its hustle culture, its speed. 

I find that I search for a sense of resistance, because at least then I’m pushing toward something. If I fail, it’s the monolith’s fault.

When I resist, it is this just cause to be admired for. In my brain, everyone must be looking at me, saying “Wow- Amanda is this misunderstood creative, speaking out for purpose, for what she believes is right. It might be a doomed battle, but Jesus Christ is it admirable.”

In my brain, I will gather this crew of other misunderstood people who just get it. They will agree and stand up on my behalf. 

And when the world throws us a curve ball, everyone will say “Who could’ve seen it coming? And they’re still pushing forward. They’re so brave.”

Once I put this narrative into words, it looks teenage.

Because the world is watching a woman (if the world even has time to) try to desperately mythologize herself into profundity. The world sees a woman pick battles with a whole city, as though she even has a grain of understanding of what it all entails.

The world sees a woman fighting something because she is much more afraid of trying to be accepted by it and failing. 

When the monolith falls, when I truly did have an opportunity to leave Iowa, to leave small town Ohio- I was terrified.

Partially because it’s unknown. But also partially because I’ve identified so heavily with rebellion that I don’t know what to do with myself apart from it.

I still remember the sense of righteous anger I felt when I told my hometown “I’m going to leave here, and I will do big things. I will be great.” Naive sense of justice.

And then I drove away from that place, and I realized that the resistance I truly felt was myself as I dragged my own heels into the next chapter.

When the narrative becomes god, a sense of peace becomes the land of milk and honey.

The battle to get there is glorious. The ultimate reward becomes the ability to rest.

And because the narrative spans a lifetime, the lifetime must be spent in pursuit. If peace is felt now, the story has concluded too soon.

I say that change is hard, but I find that I idolize it. It contributes to the arc. It serves as the foundation necessary to make the life of Amanda Mona so great.

Right now I am given a blank slate. A chance to admit to myself that I have the agency to form my life into whatever I see fit. 

That is terrifying. Who am I without an enemy to fight against? 

And then I wonder, “What if everything goes right?”

What happens when I have a love worth keeping? When I have the energy to make art daily? When I have an irreplaceable group of friends and a career that I am content with?

I begin to realize that I am my own Goliath.

I am saving contentment for later as though it’s something to earn. A scarce resource, a grand finale.

And I wonder if I’m actually afraid that peace now is mundane, or if at this point in my life I believe that I am unworthy of it. 

When did I convince myself that an upward battle was holy, and that discontentment was deserved?

And when given a chance to choose what I love most in the face of absolute change, why the hell would I resist?

What will happen if I don’t?