Who Blogs For The Love Of Writing?
Who Blogs For The Love Of Writing?
Does anyone do this anymore because they are compelled to write for the love of writing and not because they hope to be discovered. Does anyone write because they have so many stories floating inside their head they feel like they might explode if they don’t put something down on paper.
Or have we all succumbed to the rat race that pushes us to get more readers, more followers, subscribers and likes than everyone else.
I can’t say that I never write with an idea that this is going to be the post that puts me on the map. Can’t say I never write and think “fuck, I have never written something more profound, more insightful and more deserving of recognition than this amazing thing I am looking at.”
Some people tell me that posts like this where I ask if anyone writes for the love of writing are hypocritical. Some tell me I can’t complain about popularity contests and cliques in blogging because I haven’t done enough to market my blog.
They say people want to work with their friends and that if I did a better job of playing the game I would have broken through. Or they tell me that nothing is in my way other than myself and that my perception is wrong.
Personally I prefer those who say the problem is that old Jack is a crusty asshole and that I have pissed too many people off. I don’t know if there is any truth to that but it just feels better to me, gives me something to rail against.
I Am In Love With A Photo
That wacky Shmata Queen is going to wonder who I am talking about. I am willing to bet she hopes I’ll say it is a picture of her and maybe that picture exists but I am not referring to it here.
No, I am talking about the shot above because I can’t stop staring at it. That is a picture that I could use to tell a thousand stories. It is the kind of picture that makes me wish I was like Gumby and could just step into it. Oh the places I would go and the things I would do.
The kids went back to school today and came home with homework. My son told me I was right and that the teachers told them this year is going to be tougher because they are preparing for high school.
I laughed and then wondered how I have a kid in 8th grade. That is young to some of you and old to others. Those of you in the latter crowd might appreciate how surreal it is to see puberty start to turn our babies into big people.
His body is changing, he isn’t very tall yet but he is filling out and the muscle I remember gaining a thousand years ago is starting to appear.
Hair is showing up in unusual places and he is asking me questions about when certain things happened to me and simultaneously I am discovering some new aches, gray hairs and other heralds of older age.
Eight or nine hours ago I took a break to lift and felt something pulling in my left forearm. I looked at my arm and muttered “what the fuck” and tried to decide what sort of pain it was. Wasn’t enough to stop me from lifting so I did another set to see if I could work out the kinks and it never went away.
Marched downstairs and went outside and tried breaking into a sprint from a dead stop and cursed again. I just don’t move well until I have broken a real sweat.
It is beyond frustrating, I am not old enough for my body not to respond. It would be fair to say I have put it through its paces. We have lived and lived hard.
There have been more than a few moments of contact sports and lots of pounding but I always prided myself on being the guy who didn’t break because I don’t. It is those other guys, you know the two that broke their hands hitting in me in the head, what is this.
Change Isn’t Coming, It is Happening
I don’t have to look at my kids, myself or the calendar to know that change is coming. I can feel it in every part of my being.
This is a time of transition and part of the great adventure of life. It is the time when certain decisions will send us all in a new direction and there is no telling what will come with that.
There is nothing particularly new, insightful or profound by saying that but I do because it makes me feel better. Reminds me that we can’t control all that happens but we can try to smile while it does.
I kind of feel like I am in that kayak Marshall, Will and Holly were riding in just before they ended up in the Land of The Lost.
Did I mention that someone told me they were having trouble following some of my references. I had to thank them for making me feel older.
I suppose it is fair to say aging is on my mind and has been for a long while. I am not old, don’t really think of myself that way but I definitely don’t feel like a kid.
There was a time not long ago when I was the kid in the office. I was always among the youngest but it hasn’t been that way for a while.
Been working long enough to be a guy who has seen more than a few things. Been around long enough to see friends grow up, get married, divorced and die.
Seen the economy go through cycles, up and down. Heard lots of stories and told a few, some of which actually happened.
I like that. It adds some depth and substance that didn’t exist years ago because there is not substitute for life experience. But sometimes I think about the story I have been writing and wonder if this is the life I want to be living and think about how to make the adjustments that have to be made.
Think about the tinkering and tweaking that needs to happen to bring more happiness and joy and wonder what it will cost to make those things happen.
There is a price for everything and that is not a bad thing. It is part of life and sometimes you need to live a little bit before you really figure out what you need and what you want.
You Are Never Too Old To Change
My entire life people have said you are never too old to change. I have seen more than a few blow their lives up and make changes so I know those aren’t just words.
Seen enough to know that sometimes it worked out beautifully and sometimes not as well as they would have hoped but always respected those who were willing to take a chance, better to fail than not try.
I keep looking at that photo and imagining what it would look like to be inside it. I keep remembering moments where I have been out of the city and under a starry night sky that felt like I had been dropped into a magical painting.
Keep looking at it and thinking about how much more I appreciate these things because I am so much more conscious of time.
Keep thinking about Robin Williams and the other people I know who reached the end of their rope and couldn’t find a way to tie a knot in them.
Makes me angry to think about the people who make these proclamations about how weak those others were. Those judgmental souls who have answers for how to fix everyone else’s life.
Feel badly for those who have lost loved ones and the people whose lives became so dark they couldn’t find the light.
At the same time I am grateful for never losing sight of my north star. Even in my darkest moments I always feel like if I fight a little bit longer something good will come of it.
Does anyone blog for the love of writing anymore.