Appropriate
There we are...I think the newly customized look of the old journal properly conveys the Yuletide cheer. Be merry, friends, for the world is full of life and possibility.
Hello again, after many months of absence. Is it my nature, I wonder, to leave so much unfinished and to feel a certain satisfaction in the act? In one of the many Chinese action flicks I've watched, one character refers to himself as the wind, forever gusting this way and that with no more intent or direction than a wayward leaf. It seems that many of the grand projects I've undertaken reflect the same lack of drive.
Not to worry, though. I've always prided myself on living fully in the present, casting off worries of the past or concerns for the future. Part of that is doing as I will, when I will--within reason, of course. If I have worked a project to the fullness of my personal satisfaction, regardless of whether it is physically complete or not, then the project has served its purpose. Granted, there are times that I regret leaving something undone--but the beauty of the present is that, in most cases, I can return to the unfinished work and proceed until I am again at peace.
What a fantastic world we inhabit. I have a friend who recently gave birth to a little girl--Kayden Grace--and a coworker who's about to do the same (she's leaning toward Londun Aaliyah at present). I am so excited for the lives of these young ones to begin--the exploration, the pain, the knowledge, the enjoyment. Despite my relative youth (a mere 25 years), I do a fair amount of vicarious living through children.
Take my sister, for instance. She's 16 now, and every inch the young lady (by that, I mean young-teen-social-rapist--the girl makes friends like Californian toddlers make wildfires). She recently broke up with her boyfriend of two months. I've been married for six months now, so the idea of break-up has faded to anathema for me; but hearing Katie tell of her anger and frustration with going through this again made me remember and feel in a way I had begun to believe beyond me.
Maybe that's why my projects often go unfinished. Suffering, as is well known, is the soul of true art. I have written my best when I was in real pain--not physical, but metaphysical torment. Heartache. Fear. Wrathful anger. These form the pistons of an engine of enormous power. The drive I so frequently lack in contentment (which is a near-perpetual state for me nowadays) is easily smelted in the forge of suffering.
So there it is. Happiness is the opposite of growth. I think, for the doubting Thomases in the audience, that answers one of the great questions of religion: why would a supreme being allow so much violence, terror, and misery to exist in a domain of its creation? Because without those elements, there would be no drive.
The movie Serenity touches on this truth. (SPOILER) In the course of its plot, we discover that Mirandan scientists manufactured an airborne drug that caused the world's populace to lose the capacity for negative emotion. The unfortunate side effect: all desire to work, play, create, destroy, or live at all vanished from the afflicted as well. The result was an entire planet of corpses, people who simply stopped, laid down, and starved to death (save a small percentage, who reacted quite differently to the drug...you should rent the movie immediately if you haven't already).
Not that I feel the need to stop eating, sleeping, and enjoying every moment of my life. But it certainly makes it easier to understand why the world is as it is, and why I don't always feel like typing that extra paragraph. In fact
Hello again, after many months of absence. Is it my nature, I wonder, to leave so much unfinished and to feel a certain satisfaction in the act? In one of the many Chinese action flicks I've watched, one character refers to himself as the wind, forever gusting this way and that with no more intent or direction than a wayward leaf. It seems that many of the grand projects I've undertaken reflect the same lack of drive.
Not to worry, though. I've always prided myself on living fully in the present, casting off worries of the past or concerns for the future. Part of that is doing as I will, when I will--within reason, of course. If I have worked a project to the fullness of my personal satisfaction, regardless of whether it is physically complete or not, then the project has served its purpose. Granted, there are times that I regret leaving something undone--but the beauty of the present is that, in most cases, I can return to the unfinished work and proceed until I am again at peace.
What a fantastic world we inhabit. I have a friend who recently gave birth to a little girl--Kayden Grace--and a coworker who's about to do the same (she's leaning toward Londun Aaliyah at present). I am so excited for the lives of these young ones to begin--the exploration, the pain, the knowledge, the enjoyment. Despite my relative youth (a mere 25 years), I do a fair amount of vicarious living through children.
Take my sister, for instance. She's 16 now, and every inch the young lady (by that, I mean young-teen-social-rapist--the girl makes friends like Californian toddlers make wildfires). She recently broke up with her boyfriend of two months. I've been married for six months now, so the idea of break-up has faded to anathema for me; but hearing Katie tell of her anger and frustration with going through this again made me remember and feel in a way I had begun to believe beyond me.
Maybe that's why my projects often go unfinished. Suffering, as is well known, is the soul of true art. I have written my best when I was in real pain--not physical, but metaphysical torment. Heartache. Fear. Wrathful anger. These form the pistons of an engine of enormous power. The drive I so frequently lack in contentment (which is a near-perpetual state for me nowadays) is easily smelted in the forge of suffering.
So there it is. Happiness is the opposite of growth. I think, for the doubting Thomases in the audience, that answers one of the great questions of religion: why would a supreme being allow so much violence, terror, and misery to exist in a domain of its creation? Because without those elements, there would be no drive.
The movie Serenity touches on this truth. (SPOILER) In the course of its plot, we discover that Mirandan scientists manufactured an airborne drug that caused the world's populace to lose the capacity for negative emotion. The unfortunate side effect: all desire to work, play, create, destroy, or live at all vanished from the afflicted as well. The result was an entire planet of corpses, people who simply stopped, laid down, and starved to death (save a small percentage, who reacted quite differently to the drug...you should rent the movie immediately if you haven't already).
Not that I feel the need to stop eating, sleeping, and enjoying every moment of my life. But it certainly makes it easier to understand why the world is as it is, and why I don't always feel like typing that extra paragraph. In fact