I thought I wanted to be a writer. But the idea of it was too overwhelming. And I assumed it would be too lonely. So I never pursued it. But now, at 40, I think my high school self was on to something. I often remember my past self as the smarter version of me. I'm only getting older and more cynical. I have a pit in my stomach that life has passed me by. Not because I can't do what I assumed I would, but because my age is yet another excuse to never try. Because trying is work. I want to play. I get stressed just worrying about if people like me. I can't add to that stress by worrying that I maybe wasting my time writing something no one will care about. My college self marveled at all the books in Gustavus library. Most of them that hadn't been touched in decades. These author's hard and long thought-out words ignored, forgotten. I don't want to be forgotten. I think it's my biggest fear. I want kids, but not because I want to raise the next generation, but because they can carry on my legacy. It's selfish really. But, in my defense, I think we all are concerned with our own legacy. I'm worthy of legacy. You are worthy of legacy. But I think back to all the relationships I've been in that have faded (romantic and platonic): Life is telling me that I'm wind, just passing through. I'm not important enough for them anymore, the ones who really knew me, so why would I be important to a future generation of strangers?
Ready for a tangent? Good. I'm skinny. I always have been. Like, painfully thin. I can't remember who first called me that but it still makes me chuckle. The past few years, though, I've noticed a gut forming. A belly I can jiggle. It's kind of fun. It's something new I can play with. Unfortunately I also wish I didn't have it. My grandpa had diabetes. He used to be rail thin before drinking enough beer and candy to force his body to fight back. I don't want to be him. I want to fix my gut. But, honestly, I don't want to put in the work. If I just disciplined myself to doing sit-ups every night, I believe I could get rid of this tummy. But my mind stops me. THIS is what I want to spend my time doing? I hate the gym bros who live in the weight room. Who are they trying to impress? Women? Their friends? Themselves? I don't want to get caught up in that mess. That waste of time. I'd rather obsess over legacy.
What I'm trying to say is this: I lie to myself all the time. Anything that doesn't seem like it'd "pay off" in the long run, I avoid. I may be lazy, but it's more than that. My mind bounces to career goals, to societal and community ones, to romantic fantasies so fast that I never get anything done. Because even IF someone assured me that if I put 10 to 20 years into ONE thing and that it would make the world a better place, I might STILL opt out because it's too hard or monotonous or I'd lose interest and wouldn't give my best. So, I tell myself that writing comes with a risk: that nobody will care. So write for you. Write because it's like walking the dog or feeding the cat- it's something you have to do. But writing, for me, seems so self-indulgent. I create for others. And that's my problem. That's my current cross. I'm hung up on the WHO [am I doing this for] rather than what do I want to say. I'm publishing and critiquing it before it's written. But I'm not a publisher or a critic. I need to be in control. I need to guarantee success in order to motivate myself to do it.
Maybe I should take up line dancing. Or sign up for guitar lessons. Or enroll in a biology class at the nearby community college. I need to be okay with DOING without any expectations. I need to fail and continue because I like the challenge. And I need to do it alone so I don't blame or rely on anyone but me. Because I have a difficult time being alone. Just the thought of it makes me ask a friend to lunch or say yes to helping someone out or going to multiple movies in one week. I want company. My fears over shadow my desires. I talk myself out of my desires because there's always tomorrow. Don't be so hard on yourself! But if I'm not, I might not do anything. I might sit at home, alone, and do nothing. Now that sounds like a waste of time, space, and life. So, at 40, I fight the urge to do nothing. I also fight the spark of ego that tells me I'm greater than. Humility is unforturnately a core value of mine. My brain is staging a fight between my morals and passions.
It's 1:28am. Sleep is a good reason to stop this pattern of frustration. I can just turn it off. Or maybe I stay up until 5:43am arguing with my fears until I figure out a game plan. Force the fears to show themselves, explain themselves, make a case for staying around. Because fears aren't irrational. In fact, they're very logical. Maybe they'll make some convincing points. Or maybe they're all talk, all bully, all facade. As much as I like wasting time guessing what could happen (I've listened to too much sports talk radio over the years), I'm going to sit in it. I'm going to confront my doubts- most of which I have manufactured myself. But I'm going to stop asking questions. I'm going to channel my high school self and go for it. When I find something precious, I usually hold on to it too long. This time I'm going to share it. I'm going to push the boundaries of perceived possibility. I'm going to pretend I'm back in 9th or 13th grade- I had nothing to lose when I was brand new. And that's when I'm historically at my best. That's when I experiment and my creativity comes alive.
I'm getting drowsy. My dreams are whispering "We want to play!" Okay, okay, I'll put my spiral of conscious disappointments aside in exchange for wild imagination- none of it which I'll remember. When I wake up, though, I'll be ready to continue that strangely common lucid, realer-than-life dream. I've been having a lot of those lately. Time to embrace it instead of mourn it. This will be my entertainment. No need for solo movie theater outings anymore (or as much...I think the concept of balance was created for a reason). No more helping others over yourself. No more avoiding sitting down to write. And if I'm lucky, maybe, just maybe, a nightmare will rattle me out of any fears that prevent progress. I'm exhausted and sleepy enough to try. I'm nodding. I'm gone. Let the dreams begin.
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