there is still this.

In January, instead of averaging three posts a week, I barely averaged one. I don't have a particularly good excuse for this. I've been around, mostly. I have time. I have been writing, although rather loosely. Actually, I've even written several posts that just never made their way out here. I certainly have plenty of good emotion to work with, which is oftentimes the only spark I need to get moving.

Well, whatever it is, it happened and that's that. I am inclined to hate myself for my failure and to be paralyzed by what I perceive as lack of talent, ability, commitment, and the like. If you do this sort of thing, you know exactly what I mean. If you don't...well, you lucky bastard. You're probably much more at peace with yourself than I am.

It's happened often in the past, especially in my journals and notebooks. One week without writing will stretch into two weeks, then a month, then suddenly I'm looking at writing that is months ago and I don't even know where to begin.

I hate this fear, this feeling of being frozen in some mess of personal standards and emotions I don't understand. So listen, I'll try to be better, as I always do. But this time I'm not going to berate myself for mistakes made and failing to live up to my own expectations. I will just start again.

I will write about something spiritual.
I will write about something that hurts.
I will write about the woman on the bus with the tight bun.
I will write about the loneliness of a crowd.
I will write about prayer and letters.
I will write about the homeless man and the homeless woman who was embarrassed by him.

***

I have thought, perhaps too much lately, about the various ways we all structure our lives, derive meaning and satisfaction. The ideas and things that carry us from one day to the next. Each person is so unique in the plethora of things that drive them. One person is driven by goals and needs to be over-worked to feel their worth. Another is driven by relationships and needs creative space to feel satisfied. What is beautiful, the thing that I love, is that no one is right. We are each entitled to live our lives in the way that best suits us. What is even more beautiful, in my eyes, is the incredible ways that these lives blend and fold together. They create a world incredibly rich with purpose and depth. I am grateful for that.

***

Whatever happens, at the end of the day there is still this.