I’m successful in one way: I have a pretty decent job (although probably not as fancy as I’m capable of); a wife who sticks by me through thick and thin, and who is a great mother, and a good provider, as well; and incredible kids. I mean incredible in the kind of way that people come up to us and tell us they are incredible. I’ve got a house that will be paid off in three months.
Then again, I have talents that I am failing to honor. I am a pretty good musician, but I’m not playing out. At least, not in a professional way. I crave that public acknowledgement. I have a lot to give to my community, and I used to do that, but since I’ve had kids, I no longer do that. I like to teach, and I don’t do that, any more. Maybe a little through my job.
I’m a writer, too. One or two people here have told me I’m a good one. Still, I can’t seem to get it together to write anything coherent, much less try to get it published. The only writing I really do is here. I think of it as practice. It’s hard for me to imagine publishing a novel, even though I’ve said out loud that that’s what I want to do.
I was raised to be something extra special—to make an extraordinary contribution to humanity, and I’ve utterly failed at that, and can’t see any possibility of making that happen.
I would love to be in a band, playing every night. Especially when my kids go off to college. I would love to get it together, and be able to have the willpower to do things like writing stories. I’d like to make a lot of money, but that’s not really important. What I really want is to be up in front of an audience and have them cheering wildly for what I’ve just done.
There’s still time, although time is running out. Part of me believes I will get there. Part of me thinks I’ll just keep procrastinating for the rest of my life. What do they say? “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” My feet seem to be hot-glued to the floor.
Composing members:
0
Composing members:
0
