To what do I owe the pleasure, oh memories?
For those who have deigned to follow or like this blog, it’s abundantly obvious that I haven’t written much here lately. Most of my writing has been devoted to my novels or to The Uncommon Geek.
But on this eve, I’m compelled to express… something, that belongs in neither of the aforementioned. My professional and financial well-being has improved; I no longer feel the jackboot of crushing debt on my throat, at least for now. With more material matters sated, I am left to tend that which is ultimately more important, my own emotional and physical well-being.
I feel neither young nor old, merely somewhere in the realm of stagnant and neutral. Decisions made in the past year weigh on me. Why, I ponder, do I hasten to that which is most immediately flattering? Is my self-esteem so poor that I must cling to the first thing that reminds me of what I should already know to be true about myself? And yet I am stifled by my own humility, reminded that it is not my place to judge, or to elevate myself above those who walk different paths in life.
My confidence… the term is as intimidating to me as almost any other I can conceive. It waffles between extreme highs and desolate lows, like a wind clinging to the valleys and the mountains. Lack of faith in myself, and accepting events and people in my life that have no place in it, this is what occupies my hindsight. I am better than this, I ought to tell myself more. I should accept better things in life, and people not mired down with the petty problems of the world. Drama and games are for the weak of mind. Why do I cling to crutches that I don’t need? Is habit, even a bad one, really so blessed a comfort?
One could perhaps extrapolate the former paragraph to preclude a drug problem. Or another addiction. It has nothing to do with such, and yet even if it did, what does it matter? An epiphanous reverie such as that which inspired this blog is something that I believe speaks on many levels. There is a time for leisure and time for rest in life, but to spend moment after precious moment in waste, hearing the voice at the back of your mind telling you, “is this how you’d want to spend your last seconds of life?” “On this day, do the people who matter to you in life know how you feel?”
When I answer “no,” I am troubled. To feel the weight of “no” hopelessly outnumbering “yes” is damning.
If it is better to realize something late than not at all, so be it.
On this night, the waste and the stagnation ends. Let the new chapter unfold.