So many notes fill my library. Countless (well, I’m sure counting them all would be less difficult than I tell myself in order to avoid the task) words add up in the folders of my laptop, notes upon notes, most written to nobody but myself. I have tended not to re-read what I write. Mainly, I told myself, writing has been an exercise in closing out a topic, in processing it and then accepting that it is now, for this time, done. I have said what I wanted to say, now it is time to move on. Re-reading some of my past notes, I wonder if really, I just avoided them because I sound like a self-pitying, pretentious loner. How much time have I spent apologizing for myself, to myself? Instead of doing something about it, I sit there at my laptop and whine. Whine, to whom? To myself. If at least I had the courage to stand up and shout at the world — no! Had I done so, there would have been a risk that someone would shout back. Someone would have looked at me and said “Stop feeling so sorry for yourself.” Get up off your own ass and do something, something real. Make something of yourself, don’t just complain to yourself and try to appear stoic to the outside. You want it? Go get it. Nobody’s stopping you. Perhaps you can be great, perhaps not. Only one way to find out, and: If you’re really great, you’ll wish you’d found out sooner; if you are not, then perhaps its not too late to get there, but you must gather data on the topic, you cannot just guess or delude yourself.
Published on December 11, 2023