re-start
It is time to focus on being good enough. I very recently had a great conversation with my friend Jonas, whom I grew up with, has been a long time climbing / engineering inspiration to me, and now lives in California about this. I have many times in my life simply failed to start projects, pieces of writing, pieces of art or personal endeavors because I knew I would never achieve a level high enough to satisfy myself or those around me. There have been periods of near (or perhaps indeed it was) insanity as thought and ideas bubble in my head, unexpressed except to be occasionally forced upon the unfortunates in my life.
When I started blogging it was for essentially two purposes: First I wanted a part of this culture that was emerging on-line within my circle of friends and people I wanted to be friends with. Superseding that was the second reason; I needed to learn how to write. I've already written on this subject so I will not repeat it, but suffice it to say that the blog was a good tool for this. Recently however I have been falling back on my old ways of treating writing, and particularly treating my writing as too intimidating a thing to undertake the production thereof. It is time for me to remind myself once again that my writing is, as it should be, disposable. Words from my hand have no special value and writing prolifically, if badly is something I should focus on, in the hope that some day I will write well, and with luck still prolifically.
I apologize to anyone that may happen across this in the next few months. I understand if you think it is garbage. It is. I hope that there will be a few gems to emerge. I expect the next couple months to be a mix of memories, self exploratory emo bullshit, intellectual pontification, post trip travel writing and perhaps some crappy fiction.
I've had a lot of adventures in my life and I am starting what can only be called memoirs. Which is a polite way of saying that my life had been awesome enough to both write about and perhaps share said writing. Acknowledging that his is a pompous attitude I am plugging onward none the less. I'll leave you today with a brief outline both for your benefit to fit the scattered pieces to come together and for my own benefit to do the same.
OpenwaterI was borne in 1985 a terrible sick boy to a happy young post-hippie couple living in a 4th (I think) floor walk-up just outside Chicago, Ill. Around the age of four, having survived chronic asthma (which I am still in a state of perpetual recovery from) and being allergic to most drugs, eggs, many fruits and veggies, peanuts and, of most serious detriment to my survivability index, my mother's milk we moved to Madison, WI where most of my conscious memory begins.
The next 14 yeas of my life were spent in intermittent states of bliss, joy, learning, sickness, bike riding, reading (after the 5th grade), depression and suicidal tendencies. This all ended when my parents divorced at age 15 after my mothers not terribly well hidden affair with her Latin lover was discovered. Since then I have been a happy well adjusted young adult cum adult and have led a normal well adjusted life.
When I started blogging it was for essentially two purposes: First I wanted a part of this culture that was emerging on-line within my circle of friends and people I wanted to be friends with. Superseding that was the second reason; I needed to learn how to write. I've already written on this subject so I will not repeat it, but suffice it to say that the blog was a good tool for this. Recently however I have been falling back on my old ways of treating writing, and particularly treating my writing as too intimidating a thing to undertake the production thereof. It is time for me to remind myself once again that my writing is, as it should be, disposable. Words from my hand have no special value and writing prolifically, if badly is something I should focus on, in the hope that some day I will write well, and with luck still prolifically.
I apologize to anyone that may happen across this in the next few months. I understand if you think it is garbage. It is. I hope that there will be a few gems to emerge. I expect the next couple months to be a mix of memories, self exploratory emo bullshit, intellectual pontification, post trip travel writing and perhaps some crappy fiction.
I've had a lot of adventures in my life and I am starting what can only be called memoirs. Which is a polite way of saying that my life had been awesome enough to both write about and perhaps share said writing. Acknowledging that his is a pompous attitude I am plugging onward none the less. I'll leave you today with a brief outline both for your benefit to fit the scattered pieces to come together and for my own benefit to do the same.
OpenwaterI was borne in 1985 a terrible sick boy to a happy young post-hippie couple living in a 4th (I think) floor walk-up just outside Chicago, Ill. Around the age of four, having survived chronic asthma (which I am still in a state of perpetual recovery from) and being allergic to most drugs, eggs, many fruits and veggies, peanuts and, of most serious detriment to my survivability index, my mother's milk we moved to Madison, WI where most of my conscious memory begins.
The next 14 yeas of my life were spent in intermittent states of bliss, joy, learning, sickness, bike riding, reading (after the 5th grade), depression and suicidal tendencies. This all ended when my parents divorced at age 15 after my mothers not terribly well hidden affair with her Latin lover was discovered. Since then I have been a happy well adjusted young adult cum adult and have led a normal well adjusted life.