One of my secret thoughts, which is not so secret, is that I should
try to write a book. I am among thousands upon thousands of people who
have had a similar idea, but unlike many of those, I am largely afraid
that I can't really do it. I reinforce my negative feelings regarding
writing a book with negative thoughts about why I can't and why it would
probably be impossible.
First, among the bad thoughts
and feelings, I doubt that I am up to it. Having been an English Major,
learning about the dramatic curve, remembering some of the mechanics of
a novel, and having read the stories of the authors who have gone
before, the worries all pile up before me and congeal into a big black
ball of fear.
A fear of failure. Which, frankly, is a
sticky nebulous fear that never seems to go away, and often shows up in
many places in my life that has nothing to do with writing. Most of the
time that fear is not entirely rational, but some places, it actually is
warranted. Fear is healthy when it prevents you from injuries,
emotional or otherwise. Fear, on the plus side, can be an internal
safeguard against danger. However, I have also heard that some people in
the health professions will develop a compulsive habit of washing their
hands all of the time, beyond what is healthy or normal. Since they
know all the horror stories of infections, germs, bacteria, and
diseases, they wash their hands all of the time, all to avoid suffering
from an illness that was very likely all too rare to begin with. I think
this fear of writing is something like that. Maybe I know too much
about literature in general to feel safe with the possibility of
success, which then freezes my motivation to even try. Of course, the
answer to "what if I fail?," is "what if I succeed?" I know that.
However, emotions are not rational creatures. They take hold of your
heart even while your brain is shouting at you to ignore them.
The
second problem is time and regularity. Speaking in specific terms now, I
personally find it hard to develop of the habit of doing what I want in
a given day or week, and then moving in a direction that I feel I
should. There is only so much time in one's life, and no one knows how
much time is left. Perhaps everyone dies having a plan or two for the
future, even if it is as mundane as having breakfast the next morning. I
still struggle with developing a routine for self-care. I need to wash
my clothes, cook myself healthy meals, find time for regular exercise to
become fit, without slacking on the time for my job and other pressing
obligations. Even now, in my middle forties, that is a challenge I have
yet to overcome. My family has some demands on my time. And, when my
health is not 100%, I find it hard to even do the basics.
I
think to myself that what I need to do is work out a schedule on paper
and then try to follow it as close as possible. Making a plan, even if
you don't end up sticking to it, is a good place to start. For some
reason though, I haven't made any plans. Most mornings, I wake up
knowing that I need to go to work, but not knowing when or where I will
have breakfast, eat lunch, or go home for the day. Will I go into to
town and do some art? Is that self-indulgent? Should I have a better
plan? A plan for making the world a better place, for teaching, for
doing something really sacrificial? Most of my art plans, writing or
otherwise, seems to be a form of narcissism. Am I trying to puff up my
self-conception by trying to make my indulgences seem virtuous? Am I
trying to use virtue to snare my vanity?
This is where
my thoughts usually end up. I come up with a conception or a plan of
action, which upon some reflection, seems vain in some way, and then I
wind up not doing anything.
Is self-improvement vanity?
Is working on things that I am interested in vain? Admittedly, some of
my early life and earlier desires to be "good," were vain to a degree. I
do not think I could help it. I was buried under some unconscious
assumptions that my culture gave me as a birthright. It seems our
contemporary culture encourages us to indulge our vanities, telling us
that the highest virtue is self-actualization rather than service. Even
if we acquire knowledge, our culture only expects it to benefit
ourselves. We are oriented to self-profit, even with things that should
be considered non-material, like love or the other virtues. The more
"things" we accumulate to ourselves, and only ourselves, the better as
far as society is concerned. Even if service is ostensibly part of a
person's behavior, the real goal (in our society's view) is so a
particular person/individual can feel selfless and noble, an act that
is not focused on the act itself, but on the person who performs it.
What is real service, real sacrifice, and real selflessness? What does
it look like, and how it is performed? I wish I knew.
In
the meantime, in the middle of not really knowing for sure what to do
or how to do it. I think that I should try to find regular days in the
week where I can focus on one thing. For example, with my art, I have
chosen Friday to come to the cafe and draw. Not that I do that, or
intend to do that, every Friday. Just that Friday is the day most often
chosen for that. Exercise, something that I am not currently doing, is
something that I think I should find regular times for. This might be
vain to a degree, but I think that, with regard to investing in my
health to prolong my life and thereby be able to serve those around me,
this plan has more support for that virtuous life I aim at than my art
project does. Three times a week for walking seems reasonable, and
walking for at least twenty minutes each time is not unreasonable
either. But I have yet to commit to a plan. I have thought of doing it
after work, but I am reluctant because I do not want to appear as "the
fat guy" walking around the block. I guess having typed that out, it is
plain that my vanity is keeping me from doing the right thing for the
right reason. (I'll have to remember this.)
Now, we
come to my language plans. I am already devoting a small part of each
day, usually the morning to learning more words, listening to people
speak it on youtube, and reading it, but maybe this is all vanity. It is
not a language that many people speak, and there is a stereotype of
people my age and gender speaking it. Again, most people in my society,
even people who are friendly in their interactions with me, think it is
sort of pointless.
Finally, the writing: I am doing it
now. But, I mostly use this blog to explore my thoughts and emotions
more than anything. Writing fiction, or even essays, is a different
skill altogether. I may be too old to do either well.
I
don't want to reach the end of my life still aiming at something that is
essentially vain. It would be nice to find a meaningful work that will
sustain my spirit, even if the jobs and hobbies, and other silly
occupations I may find do not, or cannot, provide it. I guess that is at
the heart of all of this: finding personal meaning. I do think that,
more than most, due to my morning prayer, meditation, and reading habit,
I have some of the tools. Now, I must figure out how to use those tools
to build meaning in my own life for the benefit of others. An attitude
of service and transformation seems key, but translating these esoteric
ideas into a practical plan of action, into an engine of motivation,
seems difficult. I am still reaching out into the darkness and trying to
stumble my way into the light of understanding and knowledge. May God
help me.