A Theory of Relativity

A few nights ago, I was hanging out with my friend Al, discussing my impending move from Philadelphia to LA to pursue my dreams of TV writing and stand-up comedy. Al was praising my dedication to making these dreams a reality.
"I was thinking about it today," he said. "I don't have what you have."
"You mean a vagina?" I said, because I'm physically incapable of having a conversation without saying something sarcastic every other sentence.
"No," said Al. "I couldn't think of the word for it, but it's like, when you want something and you put in the work to get it. Like, when you just make yourself do something, even if it's hard or you don't really want to."
"...Discipline?" I ventured.
"Yeah! That's the word I couldn't think of! Discipline!"
"Thank you," I gasped when I finally scraped myself up off the sidewalk, because I had fallen down from laughing so hard, "but honestly, I'm not that disciplined. Not as much as I should be."
"No, no, no,  you are," Al insisted. "Look at what you do, you go to open mics all the time, you're always writing and trying out new stuff, you built a website, you're moving to LA because that's where you need to be to do what you want to do. What do I do? I don't do shit. I'm fucking lazy."
I pointed out that I, too, can be lazy, and actually would love to give in to that laziness more, were it not for the constant, nagging voice in my head that tells me I'm a piece-of-shit loser who is doomed to failure because I'd rather lay in bed watching Seinfeld reruns I've seen 85 times before than write a blog, work on a script or apply for jobs. I argued that, for someone like me who, to quote Angelica Schuyler by way of Lin Manual Miranda, has never been satisfied, the thought of being free from the constant stress of ambition seems pretty goddamn delightful, and should not be dismissed so easily.
The conversation did put some things into perspective for me, namely that everything is relative. Although I try very hard not to compare myself to others, but it's inevitable. I look at my friends who hustle the fuck out of their artistic endeavors, and have the successes and opportunities to show for it, and I feel like a total sloth, except more useless because I'm not even as cute as a sloth. 
And yet, there are many people in my life who, like Al, admire my initiative and discipline. Their support means the world to me, but also makes me feel like a bit of a fraud, because I can guarantee that 99% of the time, I would rather be sleeping. I love sleeping. I am the Beyonce of sleeping. I slay slumber like Bey slays Coachella, and I'm pretty sure if I found a way to monetize sleeping, I'd change my name to Rip Van Winkle and peace out for twenty years.
So why fight it? Surely the world wouldn't care if I hung up my mic, closed down my blog, and became one with my couch. Because the 1% of me that doesn't want to go on a permanent vacation is a stubborn motherfucker who insists that I do something more with the limited time I've been given on this Earth, and loudly reminds me that, after all of the whining, agonizing and suffering of actually doing work, the outcome is usually worth it. If that's discipline, she's got her work cut out for her, but she's putting up a hell of a fight. 
Maybe now she has another tool in her arsenal, as I realize that discipline, like so many other things in this world, is relative. To the world, I may be a lazy fuck, but to a lazy fuck, I may be an ambitious, overachieving rock star. And that's encouragement I'll take any day.