Long break again, ey? Implying that I'm going to come back to blogging in any way.
Alternate introduction: I've been thinking about this all morning. No topics, none at all, besides what I've covered already. That being the topic of topics, and how this blog is a blog.
Captivating.
I'm mostly interested in making this about me, working for me, being intrinsically valuable. From time to time I'll journal privately, certainly more frequently than once every 1.5 years, and this feels very different. I know that this is going to be "read", even by a just a handful of people, and that inherently changes what I'll write about.
Don't care, still want to do it. This time it'll be public, who knows about what's next.
Anyway.
The catalyst of me writing a blog is a bit of a bummer, and still in flux, and not really worth naming out since anyone reading this is family and it's a family matter. If you're itching to know and read this just DM me, I guess, but I'll refrain from describing the actual event. What's worth mentioning now is how I'm affected, which is a unique combination of stress, focus, and pride.
Overall I feel, hmm, how do you say? Ah yes - bad. I still have moments of brevity and escapism and my patented tension-breaking-gut-busting-fast-witted sense of rock star humor, which is usually last to go and a reliable warning sign that I'm not doing just bad anymore. For now I'm trying to rise to the occasion, so to speak.
This morning I woke up early and ran, something I've been doing a little bit more as of this month. Perhaps the timing worked in my favor, having made the attempt to start reducing stress before the real stress test. Lucky, I suppose. Either way, I'm glad I didn't go for my first run in years, but rather my fifth, as well as grateful for the morning I currently have.
Writing this blog is stress reducing, although in practice I'm trying much harder than expected. It's kinda like a run, but for my brain. A brain run.
Additionally, I did everything in my power to avoid looking at my phone this morning. I read recently how our minds get burnt out from dopamine at the end of the day, and that the best way to combat this is to delay the first time we go to our phones each day for as long as possible. I see the appeal, and in the "boredom" of my pre-work routine I began to get my typical Adderall-fueled Life Direction Epiphanies (tm). I should restart my podcast, my mind echoed in my silent Mazda. Twice a week, just like Marc Maron. It's easy, just do it. Half hour recordings, interview literally whoever you want, no pressure, just do it in perpetuity, for an audience of exactly your parents, and with no funds or team or justifiable financial incentive.
I will say, I've gotten better at recognizing when my grand plans are destined to fail. But I kiiinda miss failing, too. Because sometimes I wouldn't fail, at least not entirely. I've always come short, though.
If I'm being honest with myself, I mean, I never really succeeded in what I set out to do. Not once. Besides getting a 100 in science and social studies in 6th grade, which was less of a goal fulfillment as much as it was me being the fucking man at eleven. Hmm, am I a failure? This feels a little strange to write, it's solemn but liberating, like the Encanto soundtrack (Listen without crying I dare you).
True, though. I can't think of a time that I set a medium to long-term goal and achieved 100% of what I set out to do. I regret very little of each of those efforts, especially when I can see the growth of before and after each attempt. It's never truly a failure, and maybe failure isn't really the right word, either.
What am I even trying to say?
This blog did something damn well when I started it, which is the name. I'm attempting something when I sit down to write. Productive creativity captures some of it, maybe "intrinsically motivating public journaling" is more of what I'm attempting.
"Fighting creative inertia" - that's not bad.
"Accepting my own inability to create self-contained, captivating essays - documenting a floundering writer's struggle to express himself with both accuracy and appeal, having absolutely zero stakes or expectations, and perpetually forgetful of mental strains stemmed from past attempts to write: while coping with them them in real time."
That's got a nice ring to it, no?
