Stumbling in the Dark
One of my secret thoughts, which is not so secret, is that I should try to write a book. I am among thousands upon thousands of people who have had a similar idea, but unlike many of those, I am largely afraid that I can't really do it. I reinforce my negative feelings regarding writing a book with negative thoughts about why I can't and why it would probably be impossible.
First, among the bad thoughts and feelings, I doubt that I am up to it. Having been an English Major, learning about the dramatic curve, remembering some of the mechanics of a novel, and having read the stories of the authors who have gone before, the worries all pile up before me and congeal into a big black ball of fear.
A fear of failure. Which, frankly, is a sticky nebulous fear that never seems to go away, and often shows up in many places in my life that has nothing to do with writing. Most of the time that fear is not entirely rational, but some places, it actually is warranted. Fear is healthy when it prevents you from injuries, emotional or otherwise. Fear, on the plus side, can be an internal safeguard against danger. However, I have also heard that some people in the health professions will develop a compulsive habit of washing their hands all of the time, beyond what is healthy or normal. Since they know all the horror stories of infections, germs, bacteria, and diseases, they wash their hands all of the time, all to avoid suffering from an illness that was very likely all too rare to begin with. I think this fear of writing is something like that. Maybe I know too much about literature in general to feel safe with the possibility of success, which then freezes my motivation to even try. Of course, the answer to "what if I fail?," is "what if I succeed?" I know that. However, emotions are not rational creatures. They take hold of your heart even while your brain is shouting at you to ignore them.
The second problem is time and regularity. Speaking in specific terms now, I personally find it hard to develop of the habit of doing what I want in a given day or week, and then moving in a direction that I feel I should. There is only so much time in one's life, and no one knows how much time is left. Perhaps everyone dies having a plan or two for the future, even if it is as mundane as having breakfast the next morning. I still struggle with developing a routine for self-care. I need to wash my clothes, cook myself healthy meals, find time for regular exercise to become fit, without slacking on the time for my job and other pressing obligations. Even now, in my middle forties, that is a challenge I have yet to overcome. My family has some demands on my time. And, when my health is not 100%, I find it hard to even do the basics.
I think to myself that what I need to do is work out a schedule on paper and then try to follow it as close as possible. Making a plan, even if you don't end up sticking to it, is a good place to start. For some reason though, I haven't made any plans. Most mornings, I wake up knowing that I need to go to work, but not knowing when or where I will have breakfast, eat lunch, or go home for the day. Will I go into to town and do some art? Is that self-indulgent? Should I have a better plan? A plan for making the world a better place, for teaching, for doing something really sacrificial? Most of my art plans, writing or otherwise, seems to be a form of narcissism. Am I trying to puff up my self-conception by trying to make my indulgences seem virtuous? Am I trying to use virtue to snare my vanity?
This is where my thoughts usually end up. I come up with a conception or a plan of action, which upon some reflection, seems vain in some way, and then I wind up not doing anything.
Is self-improvement vanity? Is working on things that I am interested in vain? Admittedly, some of my early life and earlier desires to be "good," were vain to a degree. I do not think I could help it. I was buried under some unconscious assumptions that my culture gave me as a birthright. It seems our contemporary culture encourages us to indulge our vanities, telling us that the highest virtue is self-actualization rather than service. Even if we acquire knowledge, our culture only expects it to benefit ourselves. We are oriented to self-profit, even with things that should be considered non-material, like love or the other virtues. The more "things" we accumulate to ourselves, and only ourselves, the better as far as society is concerned. Even if service is ostensibly part of a person's behavior, the real goal (in our society's view) is so a particular person/individual can feel selfless and noble, an act that is not focused on the act itself, but on the person who performs it. What is real service, real sacrifice, and real selflessness? What does it look like, and how it is performed? I wish I knew.
In the meantime, in the middle of not really knowing for sure what to do or how to do it. I think that I should try to find regular days in the week where I can focus on one thing. For example, with my art, I have chosen Friday to come to the cafe and draw. Not that I do that, or intend to do that, every Friday. Just that Friday is the day most often chosen for that. Exercise, something that I am not currently doing, is something that I think I should find regular times for. This might be vain to a degree, but I think that, with regard to investing in my health to prolong my life and thereby be able to serve those around me, this plan has more support for that virtuous life I aim at than my art project does. Three times a week for walking seems reasonable, and walking for at least twenty minutes each time is not unreasonable either. But I have yet to commit to a plan. I have thought of doing it after work, but I am reluctant because I do not want to appear as "the fat guy" walking around the block. I guess having typed that out, it is plain that my vanity is keeping me from doing the right thing for the right reason. (I'll have to remember this.)
Now, we come to my language plans. I am already devoting a small part of each day, usually the morning to learning more words, listening to people speak it on youtube, and reading it, but maybe this is all vanity. It is not a language that many people speak, and there is a stereotype of people my age and gender speaking it. Again, most people in my society, even people who are friendly in their interactions with me, think it is sort of pointless.
Finally, the writing: I am doing it now. But, I mostly use this blog to explore my thoughts and emotions more than anything. Writing fiction, or even essays, is a different skill altogether. I may be too old to do either well.
I don't want to reach the end of my life still aiming at something that is essentially vain. It would be nice to find a meaningful work that will sustain my spirit, even if the jobs and hobbies, and other silly occupations I may find do not, or cannot, provide it. I guess that is at the heart of all of this: finding personal meaning. I do think that, more than most, due to my morning prayer, meditation, and reading habit, I have some of the tools. Now, I must figure out how to use those tools to build meaning in my own life for the benefit of others. An attitude of service and transformation seems key, but translating these esoteric ideas into a practical plan of action, into an engine of motivation, seems difficult. I am still reaching out into the darkness and trying to stumble my way into the light of understanding and knowledge. May God help me.
First, among the bad thoughts and feelings, I doubt that I am up to it. Having been an English Major, learning about the dramatic curve, remembering some of the mechanics of a novel, and having read the stories of the authors who have gone before, the worries all pile up before me and congeal into a big black ball of fear.
A fear of failure. Which, frankly, is a sticky nebulous fear that never seems to go away, and often shows up in many places in my life that has nothing to do with writing. Most of the time that fear is not entirely rational, but some places, it actually is warranted. Fear is healthy when it prevents you from injuries, emotional or otherwise. Fear, on the plus side, can be an internal safeguard against danger. However, I have also heard that some people in the health professions will develop a compulsive habit of washing their hands all of the time, beyond what is healthy or normal. Since they know all the horror stories of infections, germs, bacteria, and diseases, they wash their hands all of the time, all to avoid suffering from an illness that was very likely all too rare to begin with. I think this fear of writing is something like that. Maybe I know too much about literature in general to feel safe with the possibility of success, which then freezes my motivation to even try. Of course, the answer to "what if I fail?," is "what if I succeed?" I know that. However, emotions are not rational creatures. They take hold of your heart even while your brain is shouting at you to ignore them.
The second problem is time and regularity. Speaking in specific terms now, I personally find it hard to develop of the habit of doing what I want in a given day or week, and then moving in a direction that I feel I should. There is only so much time in one's life, and no one knows how much time is left. Perhaps everyone dies having a plan or two for the future, even if it is as mundane as having breakfast the next morning. I still struggle with developing a routine for self-care. I need to wash my clothes, cook myself healthy meals, find time for regular exercise to become fit, without slacking on the time for my job and other pressing obligations. Even now, in my middle forties, that is a challenge I have yet to overcome. My family has some demands on my time. And, when my health is not 100%, I find it hard to even do the basics.
I think to myself that what I need to do is work out a schedule on paper and then try to follow it as close as possible. Making a plan, even if you don't end up sticking to it, is a good place to start. For some reason though, I haven't made any plans. Most mornings, I wake up knowing that I need to go to work, but not knowing when or where I will have breakfast, eat lunch, or go home for the day. Will I go into to town and do some art? Is that self-indulgent? Should I have a better plan? A plan for making the world a better place, for teaching, for doing something really sacrificial? Most of my art plans, writing or otherwise, seems to be a form of narcissism. Am I trying to puff up my self-conception by trying to make my indulgences seem virtuous? Am I trying to use virtue to snare my vanity?
This is where my thoughts usually end up. I come up with a conception or a plan of action, which upon some reflection, seems vain in some way, and then I wind up not doing anything.
Is self-improvement vanity? Is working on things that I am interested in vain? Admittedly, some of my early life and earlier desires to be "good," were vain to a degree. I do not think I could help it. I was buried under some unconscious assumptions that my culture gave me as a birthright. It seems our contemporary culture encourages us to indulge our vanities, telling us that the highest virtue is self-actualization rather than service. Even if we acquire knowledge, our culture only expects it to benefit ourselves. We are oriented to self-profit, even with things that should be considered non-material, like love or the other virtues. The more "things" we accumulate to ourselves, and only ourselves, the better as far as society is concerned. Even if service is ostensibly part of a person's behavior, the real goal (in our society's view) is so a particular person/individual can feel selfless and noble, an act that is not focused on the act itself, but on the person who performs it. What is real service, real sacrifice, and real selflessness? What does it look like, and how it is performed? I wish I knew.
In the meantime, in the middle of not really knowing for sure what to do or how to do it. I think that I should try to find regular days in the week where I can focus on one thing. For example, with my art, I have chosen Friday to come to the cafe and draw. Not that I do that, or intend to do that, every Friday. Just that Friday is the day most often chosen for that. Exercise, something that I am not currently doing, is something that I think I should find regular times for. This might be vain to a degree, but I think that, with regard to investing in my health to prolong my life and thereby be able to serve those around me, this plan has more support for that virtuous life I aim at than my art project does. Three times a week for walking seems reasonable, and walking for at least twenty minutes each time is not unreasonable either. But I have yet to commit to a plan. I have thought of doing it after work, but I am reluctant because I do not want to appear as "the fat guy" walking around the block. I guess having typed that out, it is plain that my vanity is keeping me from doing the right thing for the right reason. (I'll have to remember this.)
Now, we come to my language plans. I am already devoting a small part of each day, usually the morning to learning more words, listening to people speak it on youtube, and reading it, but maybe this is all vanity. It is not a language that many people speak, and there is a stereotype of people my age and gender speaking it. Again, most people in my society, even people who are friendly in their interactions with me, think it is sort of pointless.
Finally, the writing: I am doing it now. But, I mostly use this blog to explore my thoughts and emotions more than anything. Writing fiction, or even essays, is a different skill altogether. I may be too old to do either well.
I don't want to reach the end of my life still aiming at something that is essentially vain. It would be nice to find a meaningful work that will sustain my spirit, even if the jobs and hobbies, and other silly occupations I may find do not, or cannot, provide it. I guess that is at the heart of all of this: finding personal meaning. I do think that, more than most, due to my morning prayer, meditation, and reading habit, I have some of the tools. Now, I must figure out how to use those tools to build meaning in my own life for the benefit of others. An attitude of service and transformation seems key, but translating these esoteric ideas into a practical plan of action, into an engine of motivation, seems difficult. I am still reaching out into the darkness and trying to stumble my way into the light of understanding and knowledge. May God help me.
05 July 2018
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