So i found myself in a familiar haunt over this last week, surrounded by memories and all that nostalgic crappy what not, having a few cocktails with a few friends. As we caught up on life and old times, two of them told me to start blogging. They seemed to really mean it, so i thought about it. Everyone is busy, but i feel like I've been abnormally busy, and unable to do anything like this. Perhaps i just never had the proper motivation – perhaps i can use the old excuse of writers block; regardless of the reason, i never thought to blogg.
I think i just didn't know where to start. See, when i was younger – like so many people in this world – i liked to write. In fact i secretly, or not so secretly, wanted to be a writer forever.
To be Frank and some what proud, i was a good writer back then. . . when i wrote. But something in me changed when i left school, dare i say it - i do think that writers block (which they speak of with such sorrowful tones) settled down nicely into the depths of my soul.
For one – it is easy to write when someone tells you what to write about. In school a professor or teacher or someone in charge of your homework assignments gives a topic, or guide lines to follow. Looking back i have realized that this structure can be comforting for a writer. I feel as though the world of writing is as limitless as life its self. It can be a bit overwhelming to limit all of the options down to one.
. . . or maybe so much was changing in my life. When i left school, there was so much confusion and change about everything in general, my whole perspective of the world and of life shifted. Suddenly, i wasn't sheltered in the safety of being a student – i was in the real world basically on my own and i had to figure out how to do it. Maybe, so much of my mental and emotional energy was being devoted to those crucial formative years in the life of a soul, that i had not the energy to write about it too. Or! or i had no idea what was going on, and how does one write about confusion and chaos.
(Here i must warn anyone who may read this: I often ramble when i write. Oh i just bumble along saying what i am trying to say – jumping from one topic to the next sorta like a butterfly floats from flower to flower – I'd get a kick out of it if you'd bear with this little defect in my personality and press on to find what ever point i am ambling towards, and i won't be offended if nobody cares.)
For the last year or so, i've had the itch to start writing again, but not the courage or direction to do it. So when two of my oldest and bestest friends and i sat together at a bar of our youth, and they told me to blogg, i figured they were right. Thanks guys, this is why i love you.
I have to be honest, and apologize a little. You see, i feel very compelled to talk about myself right now. Its not that i think I'm abnormally interesting, or that the universe revolves around me. At least, i hope thats not it. A lot of people have asked me to write about everything that has happened in my life in the last five years or so. Clearly i've lollygaged a bit. To be honest, its a sensitive subject, that makes me feel nervous and vulnerable. I'm sure these feelings are not founded in reason, but what emotions are?
I figure what's going on here, on this blog, is that i am going to begin to recount my life from the age of 20(ish) until present. I am doing this for the bums and my family – I know its not been the same since i left. I've missed you.
