Wow, day 175. We’re almost halfway through the year.
Definitely purging a little bit today, perhaps using my poetry to process my own life’s journey. This theme may be a tad redundant but writing this poem definitely helped me with my mindset and perspective going forward today. Here’s hoping someone else will get something similar out of it.
I love my dog. Poor puppy was feeling extraordinarily needy today. I couldn’t turn around without tripping over him. I think most dog owners can relate to this experience.
I was reading an article this morning about decoherence and I’m how countless uncontrollable environmental factors are the key reason why we don’t yet have effective quantum computers. The short version is that there are so many outside influences that the absurdly delicate and complicated machinery goes wonky halfway through trying to calculate anything that’s worth being calculated. It got me thinking about our own communication with each other.
In his book “On Writing” Stephen King describes the process of writing as an act of telepathy that transcends time and space. I love this idea. I also see that it’s not entirely accurate because even though you are reading the thoughts that I have put here directly from my brain, there are countless environmental factors that will influence your perception of this writing, to say nothing of your own internal translation process. My thoughts are not your thoughts and decoding them for your mind to process will doubtless create a degree of translational dissonance.
In essence, it’s small wonder that we’re able to effectively communicate at all when you consider just how easy it is to misunderstand one another.
I’ve got a bit of backlog again. I’ve been writing but not publishing my writing as I should. I’d intended to spread out several of these backed up poems out over the course of the day but the day had other plans. So did the next. And it has been brought to my attention that when a backlog such as this occurs, that those following his blog do not like being suddenly inundated with multiple updates. So, here is my attempt at compromise. One post. Three poems. Today’s own post will follow shortly.
This poem was written in an effort to recapture the loss of the poem, Creative’s Career, which I started in a moment of inspiration that was cut short and the scrap of paper I’d written it down on was thought lost. While the opening is very similar, It ultimately became its own thing. Every time I finish a book, my mind is overwhelmed with ideas. Many of them for entirely new projects or for things I’ve set aside to do later when often what I need to do most is push forward onto the next book in whatever series I’ve started. So many ideas. So many stories to tell. It’s a little overwhelming.
I have been my own worst enemy with my writing. I’ve said before that part of the reason I use pennames is because they give me permission to fail. Permission to simply write. In essence, when I go into a piece knowing that I am going to publicly claim it as my own, I am writing from a place of fear and I think it is undermining my efforts. That got me thinking about the nature of fear and courage and what is required of me with regards to both if I am to succeed as a professional creative. Perhaps what is required of many of us going forward.
There is a principle in professional investing that is difficult for many to wrap their heads around, let alone embrace, and which I feel applies to many areas of life. Diversify your investments. Bleed money. Aim wide. The idea is that you’re waiting for something called a “black swan,” which is to say the rare and unpredictable success. Something is going to do well eventually and it all boils down to a test of endurance. Waiting for that single critical moment to strike, the build off of. Then repeating the process over again.
Everyone and everything has an opinion, it seems. Most of them are good and valid. What’s frustrating is when they are unsolicited and come from places, such as your own body and mind, that cannot be denied or ignored, and worse still when they are also opposed. Today has been a day of conflicting opinions and information. At this point, I’m over analyzing and optimization and ready to simply make things happen.
Having a weird thing happen where we’re losing phone service inside our home. Our WiFi connection still works with our phones but making it receiving texts or calls? The experience is producing some odd sensations, many frustrating, others not so much.
Two bad batches of coffee this morning. My bride and I are, naturally, devastated.
Had a thunderstorm roll in last night. It was pretty neat.
Didn’t post it yesterday but I did write it! Today’s poem will be published later.
I originally thought I might do something significant for the hundredth day of poetry, but then I realized, it’s just another day. A benchmark to be sure, but the journey of a creative is one that doesn’t end just because a milestone is reached or a single project finished. We keep on.
Yesterday I found myself grateful for the blessing of new opportunities, of regaining my momentum, and of having reached a major benchmark in another project. It got me thinking about how much effort it is to create something and how easy it is to destroy. It all boils down to keeping on and working within a system that is designed to challenge us and to be unfair. Life is a perpetual battle against entropy.
Wait, Day 97? What happened to 96?
I missed it.
No excuse, I had an opportunity to do it during my break at work and I passed on. After that, when I got home I crashed. Hard. Been trying to do so much lately. Not the point.
I am proud that it took me 96 days before is missed a poem. New goal: try to go the rest of the year without missing another one. If I am to miss another, try to beat my 96 day streak.
Today’s poem is inspired by missing yesterday’s. I couldn’t tell you why Neverland and Peter Pan popped into my head, exactly, though in this context it certainly makes sense. Those stories are really depressing and downright frightening at their heart. Missed and stolen opportunities.
A piece of me mourns the loss of yesterday’s poem. It will never be written, never grow up, or go on adventures. It won’t even get to die because it was never born. Simply missed. An adventure not taken, an opportunity not explored. On the other hand, I am taking to heart why this is so valuable to me. The pursuit of dreams, seeing beauty realized and brought to fruition. Here is a rededication to never stop chasing the shine.
The Everyday Poet 