A few days ago, my wife described how her feelings for me had evolved since college. Hearing her version of how I have changed since we met in 2000 reminded me of how frantically I clung to some version of a poetic lifestyle. I was entirely opposed to the stiff professional mindset of corporate America. I had no intention on focusing on money and acquiring lots of “things”.
Seven years later, I am older and somewhat wiser, and I cant imagine how I arrived at this point from there. It seems like crossing an ocean of time. My feelings are so different from what they were then. Having and loving a wife will do that, apparently.
These days, I spend 10 hours per day on the computer, writing, blogging, researching, reading, plotting, and goofing off. I own more blogs than I care to admit to myself, and there is never enough time to write for all of them. Something always suffers neglect. Balance is by far the most challenging concept in life.
Where once I tossed out prose like it was going out of style, now I blog for no apparent reason and have nothing of value to say. Where once I had some depth to my words, there is now a shallow facade spread thin.
These days, this blog is the closest thing I have to emotional honesty in my writing. I sense the loss of something valuable, but it feels so distant I cannot mourn. I feel no sorrow for its passing. I am who I am. I pursue the ever elusive dream. I have no concrete goals. I pursue for the sake of the pursuit. I love a challenge much more these days because I believe I can accomplish much more than I once could.
My wife will argue that she is much more proud and secure in who I am now than in days of yore. But then again, I was “hot and sexy” back then, while today I am pleasantly satisfying. Hmm… personal depreciation or maturity?
Initially, this all was a means to an end of returning to the prose and contemplative life. Now I do not recognize what it means to contemplate without America’s Top 40 music playing in my head.
There are casualties of war, and casualties of choice. I pray that what I have surrendered can be regained at the proper time. And if it can’t, I hope that something deeper and profoundly more pleasurable grows from the ashes of who I once was.
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