At some point during my depression and existential crisis, living as a false version of myself became unbearable. It was as if my mind could no longer endure—not only the constant humiliations of that job that made me miserable, but also the burden of continuing to live as that "character" I had been playing for years.
For about four years, I had been studying, intending to become a successful trader, a path that was often exasperating. Even so, alongside the depression, there was a desire deep inside me that kept growing stronger: the desire to live a life that truly reflected who I was. That's when my mischievous unconscious started trying to convince me to take out a loan, quit my job, and genuinely try to become a professional trader, despite having absolutely no guarantees.
Just thinking about the idea would make me catch myself smiling. I know that, to most people, it probably sounds completely insane, but I was genuinely willing to take the risk. I concluded that I would be happier as a complete failure trying to be a trader than staying trapped in the illusion of security that my job provided. Above all, I knew I would be able to respect myself in a way I never could if I spent the rest of my life being nothing more than another coward.
So here I am now, exercising my free will, in the middle of an attempt that may completely transform my life—or become my most memorable defeat—without the slightest idea how the story will end. I should warn you, though, that at this point I don't really care anymore. Whatever my fate may be, I'm proud that I gave myself this chance. Sometimes we have to place a little faith in ourselves.
.jpg)
As it happens, because being a trader doesn't take up nearly as many hours of the day as most other professions, I suddenly found myself with much more free time. And in that space, other passions began to resurface. The first was the one that gave birth to this blog: the desire to write simply for the pure love of writing. The second, closely related to the first but different in its medium, was a growing, burning desire to create content—photographs with soul, spontaneous vlogs, and YouTube videos in general.
Once again, just thinking about it makes me smile.
The thing is, even though I'm an incurable lover of the United States of America and of the English language, I was born in Brazil, and sometimes I find myself wanting to create content in my native language as well. And that's where the doubt comes in. I write this blog in English, but if I'm going to establish myself as a content creator on the internet, I worry that having more than one channel in more than one language might somehow be a mistake.
The most spontaneous path—which always ends up being my natural inclination—would be to create two channels, two Instagram profiles, and make whatever kind of content I feel like making. But I can't help thinking that doing so might create confusion about the audience I'm actually trying to reach, and confuse people, and that perhaps I should simply choose one language and follow a more focused, singular path.
Until I make up my mind, I write here on my little blog.
My unconscious reminds me that this doubt is somewhat contradictory. The very fact that I'm writing on a personal blog in an age when blogs are virtually extinct, and using that same blog to defend authenticity, should already be a clear indication of which path I ought to follow: there's no reason to be ashamed of existing in both worlds at once, and above all, there is no true version of myself that isn't, at the same time, both of these people.
