july 31, 2008
a friend of mine recently expressed a desire of hers to backtrack in time and do it all again with anonymity. to be, in her words, a hermit. and i must admit a similar wish of own, at least for the present. in my own words, a recluse - if only because i prefer the way it makes me sound. i am, at heart, a narcissist, especially when it comes to my vocabulary. and as it happens, total seclusion with only myself fits serendipitously with this theme.
there is no doubt that my chicago summer has been a lot of fun. every couple of weeks there was some kind of event: bachelor parties, weddings, weekend visitors. and to be sure all these activities helped distract me from my geographical transition and got me to look forward instead of backwards which i'm prone to doing.
but now all the events are over. i'm content with that and i'm looking forward to withdrawing some, falling a bit off the map. i spoke to a friend earlier tonight to wish him luck. he's leaving his job in los angeles to move to the yosemite area and for all intents and purposes to try to start his own photography business. i commend him. we chatted briefly, both of us commiserating over life transitions. he mentioned to me he was at one point considering a particular course of action once arriving in yosemite that would have mirrored his situation in los angeles. and he said, "what is the point of making this big change if, in the end, nothing changes?"
i find myself asking myself the same question. my personal crossroads is most certainly approaching.
one of the ideas that drove the first draft of my thesis novel was the difficulty in expressing one's self and living one's life in a way that was not a series of clichés - one right after another, 24 hours a day. everybody falling prey to the same phraseology. everybody waking up at some point to a life they want to disown. nothing original - just a string of "been there, done that"s which might feel important, urgent, whatever, but in reality, despite being visceral, make a life all that more homogenous.
it is true that the first draft was also the worst draft. worst for lots of reasons but notably because the words had and i had, as their author, become victim to the thing i was trying to point out. there was, in all truthfulness, not much originality in it. by the end though, over several passes, the novel became the piece of writing i'm most proud of - and contains at least some modicum of originality.
but this is the crossroads i'm speaking about. there is a certain romance in the mythology of artists, especially writers, up late at night, typing out onto scrolls of paper, cavorting with others, drinking wild turkey, words magically flowing from the fingertips. and that's a cliché too. i've learned after some early hours sessions that i think best in the morning. and i think best and am most original and creative during stretches of being alone.
the hardest part about my life transition so far has been learning how to be alone without being lonely. i think i'm finally there - again. and more importantly i need to be here if i'm going to make ... well, i suppose that's just it: simply, if i'm going to make.
there is no doubt that my chicago summer has been a lot of fun. every couple of weeks there was some kind of event: bachelor parties, weddings, weekend visitors. and to be sure all these activities helped distract me from my geographical transition and got me to look forward instead of backwards which i'm prone to doing.
but now all the events are over. i'm content with that and i'm looking forward to withdrawing some, falling a bit off the map. i spoke to a friend earlier tonight to wish him luck. he's leaving his job in los angeles to move to the yosemite area and for all intents and purposes to try to start his own photography business. i commend him. we chatted briefly, both of us commiserating over life transitions. he mentioned to me he was at one point considering a particular course of action once arriving in yosemite that would have mirrored his situation in los angeles. and he said, "what is the point of making this big change if, in the end, nothing changes?"
i find myself asking myself the same question. my personal crossroads is most certainly approaching.
one of the ideas that drove the first draft of my thesis novel was the difficulty in expressing one's self and living one's life in a way that was not a series of clichés - one right after another, 24 hours a day. everybody falling prey to the same phraseology. everybody waking up at some point to a life they want to disown. nothing original - just a string of "been there, done that"s which might feel important, urgent, whatever, but in reality, despite being visceral, make a life all that more homogenous.
it is true that the first draft was also the worst draft. worst for lots of reasons but notably because the words had and i had, as their author, become victim to the thing i was trying to point out. there was, in all truthfulness, not much originality in it. by the end though, over several passes, the novel became the piece of writing i'm most proud of - and contains at least some modicum of originality.
but this is the crossroads i'm speaking about. there is a certain romance in the mythology of artists, especially writers, up late at night, typing out onto scrolls of paper, cavorting with others, drinking wild turkey, words magically flowing from the fingertips. and that's a cliché too. i've learned after some early hours sessions that i think best in the morning. and i think best and am most original and creative during stretches of being alone.
the hardest part about my life transition so far has been learning how to be alone without being lonely. i think i'm finally there - again. and more importantly i need to be here if i'm going to make ... well, i suppose that's just it: simply, if i'm going to make.