Mea Culpa

A little over a year ago (April Fool's Day, 2007, to be exact), I went to a medium for a reading. I actually posted a blog entry about it at some point, so there's no point in rehashing the session here, but one of the things that came out of it was a sense that those "on the other side" were encouraging me to do more with my writing, whether professionally or just as a hobby, I'm not sure. My intuition tells me that my spirits were less interested in suggesting to me a new way to make money than just getting me to do something that I enjoy and brings me happiness.

I wish that I could say I've been more successful.

Writing more is something that is constantly on my mind. I try to think of blog entries, story ideas, essay ideas, on a daily basis. And I do occasionally post some of the above here. My problem (one of them, anyway) is that I've yet to find a way to consistently write and make that writing interesting and relevant. My daily life isn't particularly rich writing fare; get up, go to work, come home, maybe catch a quick nap, do laundry, dishes, bills, cleaning and errands as need be, maybe talk to a friend or two online or in person or on the phone, watch some TV then get ready for bed again. It's not a tortuous life, but it's also not one that lends itself easily to daily blogs that really mean anything to anyone beyond me, or have any kind of resonance. I have written at length about certain topics; my grief over my mom, my conflicted feelings over my brother and the relationship we had, my apprehension over being in my forties and alone in a world that's changed so radically in the past few years, for me and the world in general. I write about holidays, about things that spark my interest in the media, about memories from childhood, about movies, and other forms of mass media like comics and television.

I enjoy writing about all these things but if I continually dip into those wells I fear I might end up repeating myself, one of the cardinal sins of writers. So I not only have to battle the physical and psychological weariness that comes from living a life beyond writing, but also the urge to rehash subjects and pieces I've already written about. It's a daunting challenge, but one I have to face and triumph over.

I know that this may easily come off as a long piece of rationalization, and in truth, that may be a large part of it. But I was just thinking today about how I haven't lived up to the encouragement that my deceased but still loving and involved family has given me regarding my writing. I often think about dream scenarios that would allow me to have more time and energy to write; winning the lottery, scoring a brand new job that had better pay and took up less of my time and energy. But even then I'd still have to struggle with the "originality" issue. That's something that has to be resolved on an internal basis, and of the two, may actually be the tougher hurdle to clear.

I waste too much time. Whereas many people throw themselves into practical activity when they have downtime, I tend to be far too passive and sit in front of the television or computer and while hours upon hours away. I rationalize this by saying that "I'm tired" or "just a few more minutes" but ultimately these are urges I need to curtail. There's no cosmic scoreboard that is keeping track of my wasted time versus constructive time, and no one is going to penalize me directly if I continue to waste time. But what I know in my heart is that by doing so, I'm penalizing myself by not utilizing the gifts I've received in this life and in turn, sharing them with others. I'm hiding myself away from who I truly am, fearful that if that true self is revealed to the world, I'll have the responsibility of "being" that self day after day, and I'm afraid that perhaps I won't be able to live up to that on a daily basis. It's a fear that I'm sure I'm not alone in, but the fact that probably millions of people face and overcome this fear all the time shames me into trying to truly do something about it.

To my family, my watchful spirits who I know love me and care about me, I'm sorry. I will try to do better. I know that you want the best for me and tried to give me direction during my reading and I deeply appreciate it. I'll try to be the man I want to be, and I'll try to follow your blessed advice and pursue my creative self, regardless of the difficulty I sometimes have in doing so. I'll try to focus on those things that give me a sense of self-satisfaction, those things that would enrich and better the world and make you proud of me (though I realize you are already proud of me). I if I have to repeat myself, I'll do so. If I have to skip a sandwich or a mediocre television show, I'll do it. Writing is really part of who I am, despite the fact that I often ignore that fact. I know that you already know how hard it is for me each day, so I won't complain or obfuscate or dissemble. I'll just keep my eyes open and do what comes naturally to me; and I'll thank you for reminding me of who I am and can be if I only believe in myself.

Someday I want to be able to share with you the story of what my life has become in person, and I think that conversation will be a lot richer if I am happy and fulfilled in my daily pursuits. I am thankful for the gift of my life, and I promise I'll try each day to not take that gift for granted.