What’s The Point?

July 14, 2009

I continue to dig into the mountain of journals teetering in the corner of my room. It looks like the leaning tower of me over there. But, is it leaning into or away from the challenge of tearing through my past and releasing the bits that no longer (or ever did) serve to enhance my life? Even though it can take awhile to reread what I’ve written I’m happy I chose to make the effort. It’s interesting to see where I was coming from and the stuff I still hang on to.

This morning I was going through a notebook from July 2006. Here’s an excerpt:

There are so many reasons I’ve found to stop myself from writing which prevents me from improving. The biggest reason I suppose is the clatter in my head, the veil in front of my eyes, that internal object that never stops saying (whispering, sighing, screaming) “What’s the point? Why bother with this nonsense?”. I think I’m beginning to realize the answer… because I have to. Because denying myself the experience is to deny myself who I am.

Even after I made that realization three years ago (and it was a good one) it has been difficult to make a complete change. All those years of the subtle and unconscious fine tuning of habits that slowly pulled me further away (not entirely but in some ways) from the person I hope to become. That journal entry refers to writing but I could easily change the word “writing” and insert singing, acting, taking photographs, or or or… All of the things I wanted to pursue at various stages over the years but never allowed myself  to take seriously. I mean… what was the point? Could I honestly make a good living at any of those things? What if I look like a fool? And, did/do I have what it took/takes? Who do I think I’m kidding? (Yes the internal object always has a limitless supply of questions to toss out.) As if the answer –  I am the point – wasn’t a strong enough reason to push me forward. For some reason that internal object of mine whispered or sighed or screamed louder than my desire which was timid, scared and insecure.

Well I have a few answers to those questions now…

To my internal object:

Could I honestly make a good living at any of those things? Why not? People do it all the time. But, making a living is not the only reason to follow the flutter inside of you. Living fully is.

What if I look like a fool? The only person I can appear like a fool to is me. If anyone else has a problem with the paths I choose to follow in my life that’s their problem. But really, why would anyone else care?

And do I have what it takes? How do I know unless I try?

Who do I think I’m kidding? At this point… no one but myself.

And  to my desires… I sincerely apologize for neglecting you. I’m here now. Let’s get on with the show.


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