State of Mind
Bear with me a moment, please, as I go off on a tangent. Hey, sometimes on this site you’re going to get publication news, and sometimes you’re going to get my stream-of-conscious ramblings. Sorry, that’s just how it goes.
Sometimes I think about the many “selves” that I’ve been in my life, my own evolution as a person and the many personas that I’ve adapted. Which of them have actually been me? You could make the argument that they’ve all been me, I’ve just been in different phases, had different values, different goals. I wonder what the previous selves that I’ve been would think about the selves that were due to come after them, as I’ve traveled about the country, city to city, state to state, growing older, and perhaps (though this is debatable), wiser. Would the me that I was be contemptuous of the me that I’ve become? I think so, sometimes. The fact is, I’ve become more settled as I’ve aged. I’m not as reckless as I was, and I react to situations differently than I used to. I really hope that it’s a sign of maturity. But what also enters my mind is the fact that my life isn’t done, obviously; it will continue, and most likely, my values, tendencies, and what I regard as most important will also change. I wonder, therefore, that what I perceive as an ever growing sense of responsibility…if I may say so, adulthood…will one day be eclipsed again by what was once, frankly, self destructive and irresponsible behavior that I engaged in. I don’t think that it will…but you never know. I’m all too aware of the relationships and the mindset that has led me to make what I view as progress in my life, but what if I was deprived of those things? What if I was to suffer what I perceive as a relapse? The truth is, I think that I’ve made major strides. But I’ve always been a person for whom a semblance of normalcy, of functioning in society, has been just that, a semblance. I’ve always had black, unpredictable moods that lurk below the surface; just ask anybody who’s known me over my long, ofttimes strange history, and they’ll tell you the same thing. Yes, I’ve calmed down. I’m somewhat of a family man now. I’ve reduced my vices, drastically. But who knows what the future holds?
In many ways, I have the things in my life that I want most. I’m living in the city where I’ve always wanted to live. I’m in a satisfying, indeed, a wonderful relationship. Of course, my ultimate goal still eludes me, supporting myself exclusively as a writer, and though I continue to strive for it, sometimes I just grow so tired. There’s a reason that the overwhelming percentage of former English Writing majors don’t make it, and it’s not because they’re not talented. It’s because they don’t have the endurance, the desire to stick it out. I’ll continue writing. I’m compelled to. But working forty plus hours a week right now, six days out of seven, I feel like so much time is wasted. Even when I do have the opportunity to write, I feel pressured, because I know it’s my only time that day, or in a few days, that I can be creative and advance my projects. I feel pressed. And most artists don’t work well under those conditions.
I suppose I shouldn’t really be complaining. I’m supporting myself, and I’m in the place I want to be, geographically, anyway. I seem to have a handle on things. It’s just I feel that I have to monitor myself closely. I don’t know what the future holds, and I must stay ever vigilant for signs of cracks in the foundation of my good moods. I am ever fearful of that “relapse.” And considering the fact that the vices that I spoke of have been all but eliminated from my life, I can’t help but wonder, if I do suddenly feel the need to lash out, frustrated with my existence, with my lot, then what would I use to replace them? What is ”acting out,” here, now, at this point in my life? I know what it constituted then. Not so much, now. Perhaps I’m making too much out of nothing. Maybe I’ve just reached a point where I’m on cruise control, and if I’m feeling the depths of these doldrums, from here on out I’ll just have a couple of drinks and rant at the stranger on the stool beside me, or sit at home in a corner with the lights off, rocking back and forth, staring at nothing. But I’m familiar with the concept of midlife crises, and I feel like I’ve had a few hundred of them in my life already. Would fulfilling my ultimate goals finally give me the peace, the mental clarity for which I’ve been searching, I don’t know how long? I would hope so. Because I think that maybe, the reason I set the bar so high for myself is because I’m almost afraid to reach it. Thinking that if and when I do, if it doesn’t do for me everything that I hoped it would…in essence, bring me Nirvana…then what in the world will I do then? What new unattainable goal could I set for myself? I don’t know. But that is why, even though success in my chosen field is what I most want, it’s also what I most fear.
Enough for now. Today is my off day, the only one of the week, and I’ve spent enough time being gloomy. A long, cold winter is stretched out ahead of me, and I must fortify myself for it. We’ll talk again soon.