Shrouds

I didn't mean to rant yesterday. Rants are generally reserved for talk radio hosts and pretentious college kids. But life feels dark right now and things are sort of unwinding after so much promise and hope and I'm pretty angry about the governments failure to really deal with health care reform. In my mind there are so many threads twisted and tangled and I'm having a hard time bringing any one thought into focus long enough to examine and write about it.

This is the point at which i usually quit writing. After a strong, or prolific, start there comes the wall, the block where thoughts and emotions are veiled in a confusing web of uncertainty and darkness. And i quit. Just stop. I don't wind out with a whimper, i don't hang onto the last threads of the promise and inspiration I'd had at the beginning. Any sense of discipline, dedication, desire, artistic integrity, or the creative practice of writing vanishes and i find myself just searching the web and reading the mundane stories of Soccer players abroad. Who's in court for what and what manager wants what player...I'm no better than a fan of American football or baseball! Depressing.

I had always seen myself as a writer, i college and finishing up high school. Even after i had my degree, a new baby and newly married, i was constantly looking towards the future and hoping to write and write and make a living with language and stories. And i poured into it at first and gradually it slowed and stopped. Life took over. Being a newly wed is challenging. Getting to know your spouse, really knowing them, is a whole new adventure but added to that was a baby and i had to work to pay rent and support my wife and kid and i got a job and i quit writing. This is not the fault of the family, rather a consequence of our choices and do not regret them one bit. Life changes quickly and our reaction is adapt and, as fathers/husbands provide. I held onto the dream for while. This passion for writing welled up in my chest and sometimes made it hard to focus on whatever job it was i had at the time--roofing i believe.

Its remarkable what we can ignore and how easy it is to bury our dreams and passions. I'm under no misconception that i am a good writer. I may know a few tricks, have some knowledge of the craft, understand concepts of free writing and character development but my writing isn't inspired and i have a shallow capacity for fiction. Really, fiction is immensely challenging for me. Not to read but because i hit the point in which nothing happens, inspiration has run dry, and my fingers begin to slow on the keyboard. The next day i wake up and turn on the computer to troll craigslist. My writing forgotten and the promise and dreams of my youth slowly slipping away.

Today I'll go to work as a carpenter, installing trim and custom shelves. When i get home I'll be husband and father. Tonight there will be a celebration of the new year. For me and my wife and my children this will be a year of dramatic change. I'll turn 30 in march and i am ready to figure out what i want to do with my life.

It is time.

But now my mind is shrouded, lightly, in darkness and the hope of a week ago, three days ago even, is waning thin.