Oh sod it. I can’t seem to complete a proper post to save my life. Okay, that’s a gross over-statement because my existence is not in jeopardy over my blog. If indeed it were, I betcha I could get something written pretty darn fast which suggests I work better under threat of a deadline – either real or self-imposed. My fragile ego (you’re welcome to substitute self-esteem if you like) however, is struggling. How the hell can I call myself a writer if I’m not writing? Seriously. My book sits alone and untouched (much like me) and I’ve a pile (on my desktop) of half-stories waiting for “The End”. The worst of it all is that I’m not 30 or even 40 anymore. I’m not even 50 and cannot afford to putter around and waste my precious time. Damn it. See, my ego is losing its grip.
But as I ponder, I realise it’s not time that I’m wasting. Time’s only a construct. I feel I’m wasting myself, and a life is a terrible thing to waste, yes?
I’ve not wasted my life entirely, of course. It feels the last few years have been a bit hit and miss certainly, but self-pity tends to favour extremes. Because I don’t care to exaggerate my circumstances, however, I will take this idea that I’m wasting myself as a nudge to get off me arse and do something – anything – to reignite my passion for writing. That passion will reenergise me and rid me of my more natural – and well-rehearsed I will add – inclinations to self-pity. But, how do I do that?
Well, I’m not sure but oddly, relaxing about it all seems a good idea, along with the most important step – showing up.
I’ve a long habit of moving away from an issue. This time, I want to stay. Writing is harder than singing was. Singing came easy and while I was too proud and stubborn to study it, I practiced and loved it always. Writing requires more effort because I denied it for most of my life. It needs patience and considerable nurturing as a result, but I want to give it my best.
So, my wish tonight is for “best efforts”. This world, and all we see in it, is nothing short of miraculous. Our hearts alone are beyond our understanding. For most, they beat without any intervention asking only that we take care of ourselves. Are we meant to toil and struggle to do our best? If our hearts are any example, and I think they are, no. Instead, we are probably meant to respectfully walk toward what would be for each of us, our best effort. Often, the toil and struggle comes from pushing against what comes naturally. I think I’d like to ease up and simply put my best efforts into this world. I’ll just follow my heart’s example.