Obligations

I need to apologize for not making the most of the gifts I have.

I can't do a lot of things that other people can do proficiently. I can't paint, I don't know anything about cars, I'm not mechanical in general, I could burn water as far as cooking goes. I'm not that confident a driver and I'm not physically very strong. But I am able to compose and organize thoughts and ideas. I'm a good communicator (thanks, Mom).

Problem is, I've let those skills atrophy. For a number of reasons, laziness, depression, fatalism, fatigue, I've let years go by with just the barest connection to my real abilities and that's my fault. There's no one to blame but me. I theorize that I often can't think of anything to write ABOUT and yet just as you can't ever expect to start a fire without at least trying to rub two sticks together, you have little or no hope of creating a written work without 'rubbing the creative sticks together', sitting down and getting at least something typed out that may or may not spark something great.

I will try to do better. Half the time I'm not going to be motivated or have any idea what to write about, but I'm going to try. I'm getting old and there's no denying that. 47 going on 48 and very little published, and writing still an occasional thing and not a way of life; that's not the formula for self-actualization. It's the formula for depression and lethargy. It's not what I was put on this earth for, and I do believe that all of us have something we are supposed to do. Whether or not we actually do it is another question.

I love being alive. It's a gift that should never be wasted. And I apologize to everyone I love and the world in general, as well as myself, that I've done such a poor job of not wasting it.

I need to do better. I must. I will.