It strikes me that around this time last year, I was losing sleep due to stress. Well, it is happening again. I have been waking up at five in the morning, then four, then three thirty. Last night, I went to sleep around ten thirty, woke up around three or so. Tossed and turned for several hours, then managed to get in a dream-filled hour of sleep from six to seven. The only reason I know that I was dreaming was because my dream was drastically different from what I was thinking about for the three prior hours, surreal, almost intangible.
This concerns me. Last year, I lost sleep because of worry over work. I could not believe how poorly I was doing (so I thought). It turned out that I was doing alright for the most part, and that I just had to learn from my one error. It also was necessary for me to get away from myself, if you will. I let the client take advantage of the situation, and should not have done so, not without taking a stand.
Now that a year has passed, I have learned, but I also am in a somewhat similar situation, and have to rise to the occasion. Like bread. Delicious banana bread. Mmmm. Maybe I should eat before typing these blog posts. At any rate, most of my life has been lived in the shadows of others, peeking out from behind the curtain, and so on. Now, events are conspiring to force me into a more active role. I have to be bold. I have to be a leader.
It is no secret that I am shy, or at least that I think I am shy. It is no secret that I am perfectly content to let others lead the way, and for me to follow. I follow, that is what I do. But, apparently, I cannot abide by that forever. Well, I could, if this life were to remain static, if I continued to be the same person that I have been. And I cannot. Not good enough for everyone else, and not good enough for me. R.Y. probably put it best when he told me, "Be yourself. Just be a better yourself."
I am now fully three years removed from my post-graduate education. "They" say that when you get out of a long-term relationship, you need at least the same amount of time to get over it. Am I ever going to forget it? No, no matter how much I drink. Maybe it is time to move on, however. That part of my life is done, it has shaped me. I still don't like it, but I accept that I went, and I grudgingly accept that I am qualified to be a lawyer. It closed off a lot of opportunities, but it also, in its way, made my life better (though incredibly indirectly).
With that in mind, it is probably also time to step up and take on this responsibility. I may always hear the taunting voices in the back of my head saying that I cannot, but then, why can't I just listen to the voice next to me saying that I can? Those voices are from the past, more things I need to believe behind. What I need to listen to is the voice from here and now.
Still going to lose sleep over it.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
How? Why?
Hm. I got the comments back for my novel, and I'm too scared to read them. This was not entirely unexpected. I feel like it's more than just a story being critiqued. It's a part of me that's being critiqued, more than just my sense of style, grasp of grammar, pick of punctuation. No, more than that, it's my sense of wonder, and my imagination, those essential qualities that make me what I am, that are isolated under the spotlight, exposed for the world.
If it comes down to the choice between learning how something works, and learning why it works, I think I am the kind of person that would rather know why. The first example that popped in my head, a car. You can tell me the basics (if I recall this correctly), that gasoline fills the fuel tank, which is then somehow combusted by spark plugs, which explosion pushes twinned pistons back and forth, which transfers power from the engine block to the axle, which spins the wheels, which makes it go. That's all good and well, but I would rather know why we have cars, what situation led to us having them. Tell me about Henry Ford, his quest to make cars affordable to the modern man. Tell me how our sense of exploration and curiosity could not continue to outstrip our technology, how we would eventually come up with a way to make travel more convenient. It's human ingenuity creating the products, not necessarily the products, that tickle my fancy.
That question, "Why?", impels my story. The simple question take Rollie on his mad quest, and though I eventually reveal some of the "How?", that "How?" serves two purposes. It is a payoff to everyone wondering about the nuts and bolts of the story, revealing some more background, but sets up an even bigger "Why?" in the end. The answer he comes up with is less than satisfactory, but it is still an answer. What matters more is his journey to get there, and how he attempts to answer "Why?", and how he gets his answer, that make the story (I hope) intriguing.
It's funny, that's almost turned on its head with these comments. I have yet to see them, I'm so freaked out. But I think they're going to be a lot of "How?" (How does this work within the story construct, how this fails the story construct), and I'm going to have to figure out the "Why?" (Why did I include it in the first place), then rework the "How?" (How can I make this work with that original intent). The "Why?" is usually simple; the story is as intimate to me as a first kiss (that lasts for over two years...). The "How?" is where it all goes awry.
I write a fair amount by "feel", whether or not the sentence feels right. The more esoteric rules of sentence and paragraph construction have long since been remanded to some dark corner of my mind, but the basics are as readily remembered as an old song. It's when I'm forced to open the hood and look at the engine more carefully where the problems arise. I sort of know how it works, but not to a great degree. Thus, the reworking becomes trial and error, half-hearted stabs at success and failure. It isn't the writing that makes you great, it's the editing.
These comments show me just how far I have come, but also show me how far I have to go. Think of a solitary wanderer walking down a path where the waypoints are twice as far as before, and the sun continues to set over an endless horizon. He continues to trudge on, though the road curve on into nothingness, and he will get discouraged, but still he walks. Why? Because he must, because he cannot turn back now, because he has come too far, because somewhere in the future, down the road, lies something great.
How does he do it? One step at a time.
If it comes down to the choice between learning how something works, and learning why it works, I think I am the kind of person that would rather know why. The first example that popped in my head, a car. You can tell me the basics (if I recall this correctly), that gasoline fills the fuel tank, which is then somehow combusted by spark plugs, which explosion pushes twinned pistons back and forth, which transfers power from the engine block to the axle, which spins the wheels, which makes it go. That's all good and well, but I would rather know why we have cars, what situation led to us having them. Tell me about Henry Ford, his quest to make cars affordable to the modern man. Tell me how our sense of exploration and curiosity could not continue to outstrip our technology, how we would eventually come up with a way to make travel more convenient. It's human ingenuity creating the products, not necessarily the products, that tickle my fancy.
That question, "Why?", impels my story. The simple question take Rollie on his mad quest, and though I eventually reveal some of the "How?", that "How?" serves two purposes. It is a payoff to everyone wondering about the nuts and bolts of the story, revealing some more background, but sets up an even bigger "Why?" in the end. The answer he comes up with is less than satisfactory, but it is still an answer. What matters more is his journey to get there, and how he attempts to answer "Why?", and how he gets his answer, that make the story (I hope) intriguing.
It's funny, that's almost turned on its head with these comments. I have yet to see them, I'm so freaked out. But I think they're going to be a lot of "How?" (How does this work within the story construct, how this fails the story construct), and I'm going to have to figure out the "Why?" (Why did I include it in the first place), then rework the "How?" (How can I make this work with that original intent). The "Why?" is usually simple; the story is as intimate to me as a first kiss (that lasts for over two years...). The "How?" is where it all goes awry.
I write a fair amount by "feel", whether or not the sentence feels right. The more esoteric rules of sentence and paragraph construction have long since been remanded to some dark corner of my mind, but the basics are as readily remembered as an old song. It's when I'm forced to open the hood and look at the engine more carefully where the problems arise. I sort of know how it works, but not to a great degree. Thus, the reworking becomes trial and error, half-hearted stabs at success and failure. It isn't the writing that makes you great, it's the editing.
These comments show me just how far I have come, but also show me how far I have to go. Think of a solitary wanderer walking down a path where the waypoints are twice as far as before, and the sun continues to set over an endless horizon. He continues to trudge on, though the road curve on into nothingness, and he will get discouraged, but still he walks. Why? Because he must, because he cannot turn back now, because he has come too far, because somewhere in the future, down the road, lies something great.
How does he do it? One step at a time.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Better Place
There's so much that I couldn't tell you about the year previous. I couldn't tell you about my triumphs and tragedies because, quite honestly, I don't remember much of the past year. It was a rut, well-worn and deepening.
I finished several drafts of my novel, and have sent it out for editing, and now await (patiently) it's return, dripping with red ink and thoughtful comments. I settled into work, and traveled a fair amount for it. That pretty much describes most of the past year.
Several people I know say they're just killing time until they die, and I think last year might have been one of those. Not a waste, because I did finish and edit the novel, but everything else muddled into a status quo.
However, the last few weeks showed great promise for the upcoming year. If, fifteen years ago, you took me aside and told me it would take another fifteen years for my life to start making sense, I would've laughed at you. Now I'm just thankful that it's happening a little.
So, what happened? First new car, 2009 metallic grey Honda Civic I've named Julia. Another bill means more responsibility, but it isn't like I've been shirking responsibility. Helped meet a deadline or two at work, which finally convinced me that maybe I can be a helpful, contributing member of the team. Got to spend quality time with people, which reminded me how much they matter to me, even if I didn't think of it at the time. Also, met some new people, and they responded well, which means that the self-image I carry really is outdated and incorrect, and that I'm finally starting to pull it all together.
It has been an eternity since I've been able to look forward to tomorrow, but I really do. These last few weeks renewed my wellspring of hope, which as of late had been running dry. It scares me that I might once again let myself revel in my emotions, rather than push them beneath the surface and try to pretend they didn't exist, throwing out a snarky joke in their stead.
Maybe these past few weeks were just a blip on the radar, and things will regress to the mean again. And I've weighed that possibility, and that's fine. Maybe this upcoming year will dig a deeper rut. But what if it doesn't? What if things actually continue to get better?
People fear being sad because of how it makes them feel. But people also fear being happy because of the chance it might be ripped away and leave you even sadder. Five minutes of sunshine before a three day thunderstorm. At least if you're sad all the time, you can accept that you will always have that baseline to rely upon. It is an acceptable way to live, people do it all the time, but it gets tiresome. I am tired of being sad, and I am tired of people making me sad. We all have choices, we all have chances. I'm going to take a chance for once, I'm going to make the choice I normally wouldn't. I'm going to try to be happy.
This may be for naught. The wax on Icarus' wings melted, and he tumbled down to earth. I might plummet back down to the hoary depths, which is fine, because I know them. But, what if, and bear with me for a second, what if I fly? What if I jump at the precipice, and somehow keep soaring? What happens then?
Pretty early on, I knew that I wanted to make the world a better place, and I knew that "the world" consisted of my friends and family. Unfortunately, that definition doesn't encompass me. So, we're going to amend that world to include me.
For my twenty-ninth year, I hope to make the world, my world, a better place.
I finished several drafts of my novel, and have sent it out for editing, and now await (patiently) it's return, dripping with red ink and thoughtful comments. I settled into work, and traveled a fair amount for it. That pretty much describes most of the past year.
Several people I know say they're just killing time until they die, and I think last year might have been one of those. Not a waste, because I did finish and edit the novel, but everything else muddled into a status quo.
However, the last few weeks showed great promise for the upcoming year. If, fifteen years ago, you took me aside and told me it would take another fifteen years for my life to start making sense, I would've laughed at you. Now I'm just thankful that it's happening a little.
So, what happened? First new car, 2009 metallic grey Honda Civic I've named Julia. Another bill means more responsibility, but it isn't like I've been shirking responsibility. Helped meet a deadline or two at work, which finally convinced me that maybe I can be a helpful, contributing member of the team. Got to spend quality time with people, which reminded me how much they matter to me, even if I didn't think of it at the time. Also, met some new people, and they responded well, which means that the self-image I carry really is outdated and incorrect, and that I'm finally starting to pull it all together.
It has been an eternity since I've been able to look forward to tomorrow, but I really do. These last few weeks renewed my wellspring of hope, which as of late had been running dry. It scares me that I might once again let myself revel in my emotions, rather than push them beneath the surface and try to pretend they didn't exist, throwing out a snarky joke in their stead.
Maybe these past few weeks were just a blip on the radar, and things will regress to the mean again. And I've weighed that possibility, and that's fine. Maybe this upcoming year will dig a deeper rut. But what if it doesn't? What if things actually continue to get better?
People fear being sad because of how it makes them feel. But people also fear being happy because of the chance it might be ripped away and leave you even sadder. Five minutes of sunshine before a three day thunderstorm. At least if you're sad all the time, you can accept that you will always have that baseline to rely upon. It is an acceptable way to live, people do it all the time, but it gets tiresome. I am tired of being sad, and I am tired of people making me sad. We all have choices, we all have chances. I'm going to take a chance for once, I'm going to make the choice I normally wouldn't. I'm going to try to be happy.
This may be for naught. The wax on Icarus' wings melted, and he tumbled down to earth. I might plummet back down to the hoary depths, which is fine, because I know them. But, what if, and bear with me for a second, what if I fly? What if I jump at the precipice, and somehow keep soaring? What happens then?
Pretty early on, I knew that I wanted to make the world a better place, and I knew that "the world" consisted of my friends and family. Unfortunately, that definition doesn't encompass me. So, we're going to amend that world to include me.
For my twenty-ninth year, I hope to make the world, my world, a better place.
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