This comment came out of a conversation I was having this morning when someone told me to just be happy with a situation that I am currently dealing with. Honestly, I’m just flat tired of ‘being happy’ with things that I am not happy with. Feels more like ‘being happy’ is ‘betraying me’ by making others OK at my expense…
So… anyway.. there’s that.
This comment came out of a conversation I was having this morning when someone told me to just be happy with a situation that I am currently dealing with. Honestly, I’m just flat tired of ‘being happy’ with things that I am not happy with. Feels more like ‘being happy’ is ‘betraying me’ by making others OK at my expense…
So… anyway.. there’s that.
http://ift.tt/1AZ59IZ
Being back in college has caused me to truly grasp how stupid I am.
No, not in the unintelligent way, although as of late, that has been a thought because learning Spanish is quite the Herculean task…
I mean more in the common sense department. As in, I really should have probably applied myself more in those days so that I wouldn’t have to apply myself so much right now.
But no… at 15, 16 and 17 I knew everything I needed to know about life, love and the pursuit of happiness and none of that had to do with high school or education. As a matter of fact, high school was nothing more than a place I went in order to see friends (what few I actually had who would claim me in public settings).
Come to think of it, I kind of hated high school. Somewhere along the road through middle school I got shoveled to the side of the road and was playing catch-up for the next few years, and as the cog of education seems to be, it just keeps churning, regardless of who it chews up in the process. Mind you, I don’t blame the system for my lack of participation in my own life, however it did play into it.
I loved math, I loved science, I kind of disliked English and I abhorred any P.E. class there was. With my love of math and science, you would assume that I would truly enjoy chemistry, and yet it was one of my worst classes. There was a concept that just didn’t grasp that may have been due to me missing a few key classes that explained the whole process…oops. Phys ed classes were nothing more than jocks picking on geeks. This was in a time when geeks were not chic and I was one of the targets that the jocks zeroed in on. Might have been my love of D&D, my intense draw to all things computer related, or the fact that at 17 I was 6′ tall and weighed in at maybe 160 pounds. That’s a big maybe by the way.
Whatever it was, I was the dork (was… is…. semantics) that got bullied by any guy who cold lift things up and put them down.
nightmare flashback…
So there you have it. From math and science geek extraordinaire to English major…
Weird how 20 plus years of your life can change the way you view things.
Cause math is hard these days…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Land of Confusion.”
Being back in college has caused me to truly grasp how stupid I am.
No, not in the unintelligent way, although as of late, that has been a thought because learning Spanish is quite the Herculean task…
I mean more in the common sense department. As in, I really should have probably applied myself more in those days so that I wouldn’t have to apply myself so much right now.
But no… at 15, 16 and 17 I knew everything I needed to know about life, love and the pursuit of happiness and none of that had to do with high school or education. As a matter of fact, high school was nothing more than a place I went in order to see friends (what few I actually had who would claim me in public settings).
Come to think of it, I kind of hated high school. Somewhere along the road through middle school I got shoveled to the side of the road and was playing catch-up for the next few years, and as the cog of education seems to be, it just keeps churning, regardless of who it chews up in the process. Mind you, I don’t blame the system for my lack of participation in my own life, however it did play into it.
I loved math, I loved science, I kind of disliked English and I abhorred any P.E. class there was. With my love of math and science, you would assume that I would truly enjoy chemistry, and yet it was one of my worst classes. There was a concept that just didn’t grasp that may have been due to me missing a few key classes that explained the whole process…oops. Phys ed classes were nothing more than jocks picking on geeks. This was in a time when geeks were not chic and I was one of the targets that the jocks zeroed in on. Might have been my love of D&D, my intense draw to all things computer related, or the fact that at 17 I was 6′ tall and weighed in at maybe 160 pounds. That’s a big maybe by the way.
Whatever it was, I was the dork (was… is…. semantics) that got bullied by any guy who cold lift things up and put them down.
nightmare flashback…
So there you have it. From math and science geek extraordinaire to English major…
Weird how 20 plus years of your life can change the way you view things.
Cause math is hard these days…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Land of Confusion.”
http://ift.tt/1cx17Bv
WordPress stats just confuse me.
Am I the only one?You would think that something like that wouldn’t be all that confusing.
Visitors, views, likes, comments..
I mean, it should be incredibly easy to understand.
And yet…
Yesterday I had the absolute best day for likes on my page, a total of 37, and I only had 9 visitors and 14 views.
Ok, barring the fact that those numbers seem incredibly low to begin with… I’m not really sure how those numbers correlate. Sure, there is the reader and people just clicking like on the post without opening, I suppose. Not sure how that would account for such a large margin of difference though because that would have to be a large portion of the likes, well into the 60% range.
And then…(there is always a “and then…” isn’t there?) What about the links back from Facebook, Twitter, or any of the other social media sites that the posts are linked too? Do those get counted also? I know I have several people from Facebook that click on my links and read the stuff from my blog and if they are included in the visitor number, then the discrepancy of likes to visits increases (unless those likes are included, which I do not believe they are due to the notification of each and every like that we get when someone likes our stuff).
So… here I sit.
Confuddled* about stats.
Because last time I checked… 1 +1 = 2
But WordPress doesn’t seem to use the same math.
Confuddled – d. the state of being confused, muddled and irritated… all at the same time.
http://ift.tt/1PgjWee
WordPress stats just confuse me.
Am I the only one?You would think that something like that wouldn’t be all that confusing.
Visitors, views, likes, comments..
I mean, it should be incredibly easy to understand.
And yet…
Yesterday I had the absolute best day for likes on my page, a total of 37, and I only had 9 visitors and 14 views.
Ok, barring the fact that those numbers seem incredibly low to begin with… I’m not really sure how those numbers correlate. Sure, there is the reader and people just clicking like on the post without opening, I suppose. Not sure how that would account for such a large margin of difference though because that would have to be a large portion of the likes, well into the 60% range.
And then…(there is always a “and then…” isn’t there?) What about the links back from Facebook, Twitter, or any of the other social media sites that the posts are linked too? Do those get counted also? I know I have several people from Facebook that click on my links and read the stuff from my blog and if they are included in the visitor number, then the discrepancy of likes to visits increases (unless those likes are included, which I do not believe they are due to the notification of each and every like that we get when someone likes our stuff).
So… here I sit.
Confuddled* about stats.
Because last time I checked… 1 +1 = 2
But WordPress doesn’t seem to use the same math.
Confuddled – d. the state of being confused, muddled and irritated… all at the same time.
I have 44 years of experience at life.
44 years of getting it wrong and somehow still making it, 44 years of getting it right and still screwing that up, 44 years of asking other people for help, and 44 years of lessons learned.
No, my experiences are not the same as yours, so obviously I can’t 100% understand what you are going through. Hey, but good luck finding someone who has. What I do have (invokes Liam Neeson voice) is a particular understanding that the boat you are in is yours, but the lake you are on… well, that’s something I can grasp. I also have an uncanny way of seeing things for what they are (I have been wrong on occasion), and hearing what you aren’t saying or are trying to hide (it’s not a magic trick or esp, I’m just really good at reading people along with a bunch of other stuff).
Unfortunately, added to all this is my desire to help people through tough times, or to try to walk along the road with them and point out the landmines that I have walked over (ok, so we are out of the boat metaphor and onto dry land). My tactic is not straightforward though. I don’t want to give people the answers, but instead try to lead them to a place where they can figure it out and make the answer their own (it’s the teacher in me, I’m sure). Oh, I’m also a bit cocky, snarky and apparently cynical. An abrasive personality in these kinds of situations, I’m sure.
But, I don’t have time to pussyfoot around stuff. My time is valuable, just as much as the next person, and since my advice doesn’t come with a prescribed per hour premium, I don’t want to dawdle over trivial crap. This has lead many to call my talks 2×4’s. Honestly, I’m ok with that. Most people need 2×4’s in their life from time to time. I do my level best to help someone, but I’m not changing my tactics, I’m not changing my style. I am who I am, so my help comes with that understanding.
See, compassion and mercy are not my strong points. Well, not the way that most would define them. I have a lot of compassion, it is what makes me want to help people. It’s just not that surface stuff that’s all, “Aww, let me give you a hug, isn’t the world wonderful, you’re so special” crap that seems more fluff than anything. And I have a lot of mercy. Lots. I can overlook a lot of offenses (which leads me to be walk on or abused), but again, it’s not this surface style mercy so a lot of people think I am just cold and disconnected.
But I do have a point where I am just done. Sometimes it’s the person’s actions, like when I spend hours with them and they return over and over to the same thing, which makes me feel as if I am wasting my time. Sometimes it’s something they say, more akin to the camel’s back snapping from that last straw, where I have finally just had enough and I am done (insert a dealer wiping and showing his hands as he finishes his shift.. seriously, I do that).
Which ever it is, somewhere in my brain that person gets marked as a swine (not literally, but that would be cool). My compassion just runs out. My mercy hits a wall. I feel bad because I really want to help, but I realize that when Jesus was talking about pearls and swine, sometimes, you just got to let that pig be a pig.
Yep.
Or… you know… something like that.
http://ift.tt/19JKot6I have 44 years of experience at life.
44 years of getting it wrong and somehow still making it, 44 years of getting it right and still screwing that up, 44 years of asking other people for help, and 44 years of lessons learned.
No, my experiences are not the same as yours, so obviously I can’t 100% understand what you are going through. Hey, but good luck finding someone who has. What I do have (invokes Liam Neeson voice) is a particular understanding that the boat you are in is yours, but the lake you are on… well, that’s something I can grasp. I also have an uncanny way of seeing things for what they are (I have been wrong on occasion), and hearing what you aren’t saying or are trying to hide (it’s not a magic trick or esp, I’m just really good at reading people along with a bunch of other stuff).
Unfortunately, added to all this is my desire to help people through tough times, or to try to walk along the road with them and point out the landmines that I have walked over (ok, so we are out of the boat metaphor and onto dry land). My tactic is not straightforward though. I don’t want to give people the answers, but instead try to lead them to a place where they can figure it out and make the answer their own (it’s the teacher in me, I’m sure). Oh, I’m also a bit cocky, snarky and apparently cynical. An abrasive personality in these kinds of situations, I’m sure.
But, I don’t have time to pussyfoot around stuff. My time is valuable, just as much as the next person, and since my advice doesn’t come with a prescribed per hour premium, I don’t want to dawdle over trivial crap. This has lead many to call my talks 2×4’s. Honestly, I’m ok with that. Most people need 2×4’s in their life from time to time. I do my level best to help someone, but I’m not changing my tactics, I’m not changing my style. I am who I am, so my help comes with that understanding.
See, compassion and mercy are not my strong points. Well, not the way that most would define them. I have a lot of compassion, it is what makes me want to help people. It’s just not that surface stuff that’s all, “Aww, let me give you a hug, isn’t the world wonderful, you’re so special” crap that seems more fluff than anything. And I have a lot of mercy. Lots. I can overlook a lot of offenses (which leads me to be walk on or abused), but again, it’s not this surface style mercy so a lot of people think I am just cold and disconnected.
But I do have a point where I am just done. Sometimes it’s the person’s actions, like when I spend hours with them and they return over and over to the same thing, which makes me feel as if I am wasting my time. Sometimes it’s something they say, more akin to the camel’s back snapping from that last straw, where I have finally just had enough and I am done (insert a dealer wiping and showing his hands as he finishes his shift.. seriously, I do that).
Which ever it is, somewhere in my brain that person gets marked as a swine (not literally, but that would be cool). My compassion just runs out. My mercy hits a wall. I feel bad because I really want to help, but I realize that when Jesus was talking about pearls and swine, sometimes, you just got to let that pig be a pig.
Yep.
Or… you know… something like that.
I get asked many questions during the day. “What’s up?”, “Can I get you anything else?”, “What would you like?”, “Large or extra-large?”, “Can you please stop bothering me?”, “Why do you have to be so weird?”, “What’s with all the stalking you do?”….
You know.. normal things.
However, in my life, there is one question that beats them all. One question that if I am never asked again in my entire life, I will be so perfectly fine that I might do a dance. Granted, I would have to be dead in order for me to know whether it happened or not, and a dancing dead body might freak out the locals.. but I’d be cool with that.
Digression at it’s finest folks…
Anyway, that question is, “How are you doing?”. Now, this sounds like a normal question, I know. But let me put this into the context for you. At a funeral, or after someone passes, everyone pours out of the woodwork and is overly concerned with your well-being. Genuine, I know, so I don’t hold it against them. But every one of them walks up with sympathy in their face and espouses to you that same question.
“How are you doing?”
I’m civil. Or at least I lie to myself and tell myself that myself is civil. Myself. (it just needed one more myself). So, I smile and act polite and recite the words, “I’m fine” or some other combination of words that means about the same thing.
I know I sound jaded. Let’s not beat around the bush. I am. Most likely. Never been diagnosed by a doctor, so I’m not particularly sure if you can self diagnose that particular prognosis. But, after the amount of family members and close friends who had died on my over the last 10 years, I have gotten a bit tired of that question. (by the way, I stopped counting after 15)
“How are you doing?”
It’s like this cannon-shot going off next to my ear that I just want to look at the person right in the face and go…”Gee, I don’t know. My (insert close family member here) just died, someone who I’m never going to be able to see again and only have the memories of them to hold onto. It only happened a few days ago and I have been trying to take care of taking care of their last wishes, so I haven’t had time to process my loss yet, but, hey, I just want to thank you for checking on me and reminding me that I just lost someone dear to me and haven’t really worked out how that all makes me feel as of yet. So you want to know how I’m doing… I’m FINE!”
Granted that is exactly how I answer that question.. minus everything before the last two words. And without the capitalization.
Like I said.. Jaded. I get that.
These days, when I am placed in the position of the person offering condolences, I have a completely different view-point of what that looks like. I no longer ask “How are you doing?”, I just walk up, stand quietly and just let them know I am there. Sometimes I offer something encouraging like a hug, a “hey, or a “love you bro” kind of thing (bro-dette if it’s a she). I talk a bit about the person who passed, if I knew them, remembering some good times. If I didn’t, I will ask a question or two to get the person to share with me a little about their memories. I usually conclude with something like.. “sucks man” before I walk away.
However, there is one thing I will never say to someone in this situation. And for the love of God can we please take this phrase out of our vocabulary… “Call me if you need anything.”
Cause, yeah, in the middle of all of this.. that’s exactly what I was thinking.. who can I call if I need help. Oh, the 8 billion people who have told me to call them. Seriously!?!?
Instead… how about we change that to…”Hey, I’ll call you in the next few days.” or “Hey, I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow.” or.. something like that.
Ok.. I seriously could rant about that for another 1500 words… but.. so not the point right now.
So after reading all that…
How are you doing?
(and if you don’t get the sarcasm in that… /facepalm)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”
http://ift.tt/1DreyJC
I get asked many questions during the day. “What’s up?”, “Can I get you anything else?”, “What would you like?”, “Large or extra-large?”, “Can you please stop bothering me?”, “Why do you have to be so weird?”, “What’s with all the stalking you do?”….
You know.. normal things.
However, in my life, there is one question that beats them all. One question that if I am never asked again in my entire life, I will be so perfectly fine that I might do a dance. Granted, I would have to be dead in order for me to know whether it happened or not, and a dancing dead body might freak out the locals.. but I’d be cool with that.
Digression at it’s finest folks…
Anyway, that question is, “How are you doing?”. Now, this sounds like a normal question, I know. But let me put this into the context for you. At a funeral, or after someone passes, everyone pours out of the woodwork and is overly concerned with your well-being. Genuine, I know, so I don’t hold it against them. But every one of them walks up with sympathy in their face and espouses to you that same question.
“How are you doing?”
I’m civil. Or at least I lie to myself and tell myself that myself is civil. Myself. (it just needed one more myself). So, I smile and act polite and recite the words, “I’m fine” or some other combination of words that means about the same thing.
I know I sound jaded. Let’s not beat around the bush. I am. Most likely. Never been diagnosed by a doctor, so I’m not particularly sure if you can self diagnose that particular prognosis. But, after the amount of family members and close friends who had died on my over the last 10 years, I have gotten a bit tired of that question. (by the way, I stopped counting after 15)
“How are you doing?”
It’s like this cannon-shot going off next to my ear that I just want to look at the person right in the face and go…”Gee, I don’t know. My (insert close family member here) just died, someone who I’m never going to be able to see again and only have the memories of them to hold onto. It only happened a few days ago and I have been trying to take care of taking care of their last wishes, so I haven’t had time to process my loss yet, but, hey, I just want to thank you for checking on me and reminding me that I just lost someone dear to me and haven’t really worked out how that all makes me feel as of yet. So you want to know how I’m doing… I’m FINE!”
Granted that is exactly how I answer that question.. minus everything before the last two words. And without the capitalization.
Like I said.. Jaded. I get that.
These days, when I am placed in the position of the person offering condolences, I have a completely different view-point of what that looks like. I no longer ask “How are you doing?”, I just walk up, stand quietly and just let them know I am there. Sometimes I offer something encouraging like a hug, a “hey, or a “love you bro” kind of thing (bro-dette if it’s a she). I talk a bit about the person who passed, if I knew them, remembering some good times. If I didn’t, I will ask a question or two to get the person to share with me a little about their memories. I usually conclude with something like.. “sucks man” before I walk away.
However, there is one thing I will never say to someone in this situation. And for the love of God can we please take this phrase out of our vocabulary… “Call me if you need anything.”
Cause, yeah, in the middle of all of this.. that’s exactly what I was thinking.. who can I call if I need help. Oh, the 8 billion people who have told me to call them. Seriously!?!?
Instead… how about we change that to…”Hey, I’ll call you in the next few days.” or “Hey, I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow.” or.. something like that.
Ok.. I seriously could rant about that for another 1500 words… but.. so not the point right now.
So after reading all that…
How are you doing?
(and if you don’t get the sarcasm in that… /facepalm)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”
Of sorts.
It’s not really procrastination. At least I keep telling myself that.
I’m biding my time. Making good use of the moments that I have…
While not working on my essay for English class.
Like, seriously, it’s only 500 words. I can do that with my eyes closed (honestly, sometimes I type my stuff with my eyes closed just to see how messed up my typing skills are). Now, make it make sense as it relates to critically analyzing a story I had to read and base the entire thing off of?
Well…. that’s a different subject. One that I truly don’t care for. One, because as I have previously written about, I don’t really like to read as much as I like to write. Second, this whole ‘analyze’ thing. Seriously, who does that? Who looks at a story for this deep meaning? Who reads a poem to figure out the ‘human voice’ it portrays (yep, one of my assignments for American Lit)? Where do people come up with this stuff?
Maybe I’m just a shallow writer. Maybe I just like to tell a good story. Maybe I really don’t include a ton of subtext in the fiction I post. Maybe… I do.
But why do we have to nitpick the brain of an author and figure out what they are saying.
And poets are the worst. I think I have seriously lost any appetite I have ever had for poetry in these two classes. All this context, subtext, pretext, text text.. I feel like I’m listening to teenagers tell me about conversations they had with the bae.
On a side note… bae? Really? That extra ‘B’ was just TOO much for you to type? Stop it.
Ok, back to whatever it was that I was trying to get at… oh, procrastination.
Yep, totally putting off writing this paper. I should be doing it now. Ok, maybe I should be working.. but.. moot point in this argument…
It is my own fault. I am the one who decided to take English 2 and American Lit at the same time.
So much reading… SOOOOOOO much….
If you need me, I will be somewhere else typing this monstrosity of a critical analysis about some old dude with huge wings.
Yah, fun.
http://ift.tt/1KF6Z7XOf sorts.
It’s not really procrastination. At least I keep telling myself that.
I’m biding my time. Making good use of the moments that I have…
While not working on my essay for English class.
Like, seriously, it’s only 500 words. I can do that with my eyes closed (honestly, sometimes I type my stuff with my eyes closed just to see how messed up my typing skills are). Now, make it make sense as it relates to critically analyzing a story I had to read and base the entire thing off of?
Well…. that’s a different subject. One that I truly don’t care for. One, because as I have previously written about, I don’t really like to read as much as I like to write. Second, this whole ‘analyze’ thing. Seriously, who does that? Who looks at a story for this deep meaning? Who reads a poem to figure out the ‘human voice’ it portrays (yep, one of my assignments for American Lit)? Where do people come up with this stuff?
Maybe I’m just a shallow writer. Maybe I just like to tell a good story. Maybe I really don’t include a ton of subtext in the fiction I post. Maybe… I do.
But why do we have to nitpick the brain of an author and figure out what they are saying.
And poets are the worst. I think I have seriously lost any appetite I have ever had for poetry in these two classes. All this context, subtext, pretext, text text.. I feel like I’m listening to teenagers tell me about conversations they had with the bae.
On a side note… bae? Really? That extra ‘B’ was just TOO much for you to type? Stop it.
Ok, back to whatever it was that I was trying to get at… oh, procrastination.
Yep, totally putting off writing this paper. I should be doing it now. Ok, maybe I should be working.. but.. moot point in this argument…
It is my own fault. I am the one who decided to take English 2 and American Lit at the same time.
So much reading… SOOOOOOO much….
If you need me, I will be somewhere else typing this monstrosity of a critical analysis about some old dude with huge wings.
Yah, fun.
Sometimes, I feel that doctor’s got a cue from Monty Hall when it comes to prescriptions, and there are days where I walk into the office and feel like I just walked onto the set of “Let’s Take A Pill”. I’m not really sure if this is insurance driven, the pharmacology companies pushing more medication or if the doctors really think that this form of treatment is the answer to solve all that ails me.
Then, as a good patient, we start taking our pills, swallowing down whatever it is that they told us is going to fix the problem, only to have to end up taking others in order to counteract the side effects of the ones we are taking, which then cause us other issues and.. well, you get the idea.
For instance… I am currently taking a diabetes medication, a cholesterol medication and a blood pressure medication. My blood sugar is about where it was 20 years ago, elevated but if those numbers changed a wee bit (less than a percent) I would be outside the scope (and by the way, that has actually happened in the past). My cholesterol is a bit high.. ok, in days gone by I liked my hamburgers, pizza and other fun (read…unhealthy) food. So that one, sure. Got it.
Then there is the blood pressure medicine. My blood pressure is fine, like spot on fine. 120/80 kind of spot on. Hasn’t changed in so long I can tell the nurse taking my pressure exactly what it’s going to be (plus or minus 3 points). So, why am I taking this? Because one of the other pills I am taking has a chance to raise another number that is slightly elevated (but normal) and he is concerned that it could cause me problems.
I’m like… what?
Then there is the scenario about my shoulder. It hurts. Like bad enough I actually went to the doctor to tell him it hurt and it wasn’t even falling off (Yep, one of ‘those’ guys). I get an MRI done, I get my evaluation. The doc says, “It’s an impingement caused by a bone spur.” Great I think, hoping this doesn’t mean surgery, but before I could say anything, he finishes with, “We won’t be doing surgery because we can’t see the bone spur. So, instead, I’m going to give you a cortisone shot and schedule you for physical therapy.”
So, there I am, sitting on the paper covered table with him looking at me in all seriousness, telling me that an MRI couldn’t see the bone spur, but this invisible bone spur was what was causing my issue and his answer is to inject me with something and send me away.
I’m not a huge fan of needles, and I have heard enough about this cortisone that I am really not for it. However, my wife is in the room with me and she is all like.. “Yeah, lets do that. That sounds like a plan.”, and in my head I am shooting daggers at her, which by some odd coincidence happened to be about the size of the needle that this doctor ended up sticking me in the shoulder with.
Guess what?
The cortisone shot hasn’t done anything for me. Big win Mr. Doctor, sir. Plus, you know… more daggers.
Now, I like my primary doctor. He is funny, a nice guy, listens to me and tries to calm my over active hypochondriacal ways. Plus, he is a reservist, so bonus points there. All I’m saying is.. instead of taking a chill pill, can we just chill with the pill?
Seriously, he couldn’t see the bone spur…
http://ift.tt/1vYvWWwThe feeling of stuck has somehow absorbed me recently. I look at the screen, type a few words, read what I typed then delete it. This has gone on for at least 4 days now. It’s different than when I am just not happy with what I write. This is something where I just can’t seem to put together my thoughts. The mumble jumble of my brain crying out in fifteen different directions.
Sure, the topics help to at least point me in a direction (granted, as of late, the daily post topics have not really been my forte), but as I start to write, something happens. Maybe its the distracted life I live. Always having to go do this or that. Not having the time to really just shut the world out and concentrate on something for a length of time.
Side note... Funny thing is, this last Sunday, in church, I ended up filling up several pages of notes for a story I am working on while the pastor was teaching. I actually do remember what he was talking about, but for some reason, I had some pretty awesome clarity and used it to jot some notes down on a story I have been stuck on for about 2 months…End side note
It’s in these times that I really just feel like a failure. Unable to write, unable to finish something, unable to do something simple like focus. I start to feel defeated. I start to feel lost. Enter, Mr. Internal Critic. He is just waiting for moments like this. Moments where he can add just the right amount of punch to the situation and knock me into full fledged downward spiral.
He just sits there, waiting. Watching. Like some kind of weird personal stalker. When I type something he says “That’s not good enough. You should delete it.”
Update to today…
Well, the last two days have been somewhat productive. I actually sat and was able to put some of my thoughts down, including the flash story from yesterday (which is based off of the idea that I have for a book I am working on). I’m kind of looking forward to this weekend. Who knows, maybe I will be able to shut off the voice long enough to just write it down (ok, type, whatever) and accept what it is. Still working on just getting it out of my head without judging it. Bad habit, hard to break. Will see.
http://ift.tt/1vWeFciThere are things that I want to write that I don’t.
There are times when a thought comes to my mind and I mull it over, flipping it this way and that, tearing it apart and think to myself,
“Self, that would be awesome.. but…”
And yes, I do actually call myself ‘self’ when I am talking to.. um..myself.
Myself (just had to do it one more time).
I had this conversation with my wife the other day after I had written a piece that was very intense, but included thoughts that would just not be acceptable by the group of people who I associate with. It was real, it was gritty, it was intense.
It was erased.
I felt.. I don’t know. I felt wrong? I guess that’s the word I should use. Like if I posted this piece people would judge me or look at me differently, or disassociate with me.. or associate my writing with a walking away from my beliefs.
I’m not.
Just so you know.
I still believe in Jesus. I still have faith in what He did for me on the cross, the tomb and the rest. I’m not angry at God, the church, or the people of the church, and I still go at least every Sunday.
But… therein lies the issue. I have been a volunteer youth minister for most of my adult life. I lead my current churches youth group for over 3 years. I have students who, I assume, still look up to me. But I want to be real in my writing.
For instance, right now, I am struggling with even posting this, so if you are reading this, well, I won.. lost.. or.. something.. that particular battle. Will it go to my Facebook, Twitter, or any of the other social media hubs that I post my work on? I don’t know. (FYI, I’m writing this at 3:08 on Friday, October 10th.. so… )
Am I wrong for having this desire for freedom in my expression? Am I wrong for not wanting to be the stumbling block that may cause some of my students to look at me (or God) different? Am I wrong for even thinking (or being arrogant enough to think) that I could cause that?
I’ve thought about creating a pen name. Well, actually, I should say I have thought about finally using the name I came up with years ago. I just don’t know if that is the answer or a cop-out.
Granted, I don’t even know if I am good enough to have to worry about that, cause who knows if anyone actually reads my stuff. (no, that’s not self-loathing or a call for comfort, just a reality check on my ego.. of sorts)
Maybe I just put too much pressure on myself… wouldn’t be the first time in my life I had an over inflated sense of self. I don’t think I do it on purpose, but it’s more out of a sense of responsibility… a responsibility that I take very seriously. At least, I think I do.
I know others have done it. Merged their faith with their writing, and have been successful at it. I just don’t know how to do it and remain true to me.. the writing.. the idea… something like that.
(the following part was added today 10/23)
I’ve had several days to stew over this, still not sure if I should post it. It’s pretty open about my struggles and, as I have said, I know people I know read this.. (I know, I know, too many knows…)… I’m a little more at rest inside myself these last few days, almost as if just admitting this has been cathartic (question, is that a combination of catholic and cardiac? Like the way I assume one would feel going into a confessional? anyway…)
In the end I think I have to just come to terms with It is going to be what it is going to be. And if I am happy with what it is, than that should be ok.
Now, anyone got any advice on how to be happy with my own writing?
Seriously? Anyone?
http://ift.tt/1yq7SuvI have heard the following quote used by many people over the course of my life:
“A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Might I just say, I totally disagree with it. Emphatically.
Sure, Ye Ole Billy boy was implying the statement to a soldier in battle, but even then, this is romanticized at best. To say that a brave soul only tastes death once, obviously invoking the physical death meaning, and yet the coward dies a thousand times? Obviously we are not speaking of physical death here, which makes the argument one of apples and oranges, therefore invalidating the statement as a whole.
Sorry Will.
I believe we all think about our mortality on a normal basis. When we aren’t paying attention and almost rear-end the car in front of us, that awkward pain you feel that sends you into a panic, or that one particular moment where every second of your life flashes in front of your eyes. For some of us, we can move beyond that. For people like me, we get stuck there for a much longer time.
It’s all the same though. For a moment, for a minute, for longer, we think about death. We think about the would have, could have, should haves. We evaluate where we are. Then we carry on.
Eventually.
No, I think Will had it backwards. I think the brave taste death a thousand times. The coward, they face death and it beats them. Then they run from it at every chance they get. Or end it.
It takes a brave person to live. It takes a brave person to go on. It takes a brave person to account for who they are, recognize, and then do something about it… in spite of death.
Physical death comes for us all. Once.
There is enough out there trying to stop us from living. Death just does it in a more permanent manner. So my advice to you (and even more so, to myself) is to shout out:
Live Till Your Dead!
http://ift.tt/1t4llHTNothing is equal.
We are neither born that way and we do not die that way.
It seems, however, that everything else in the middle is fair ground.
As if, for some reason, we should all move toward the middle ground of what normal is.
That just seems dumb.
http://ift.tt/1F5KBTa
