Yes, I am fully aware that it sounds like the forward to a self-help book. I get it. However, I think this question is important, if only for the fact that it goes through my head a hundred times a day. (Am I alone? Guys? Guys?) And when it comes to writing here, for readers other than, you know, me and my mother, it is an extremely important question. And one that I pretty much don’t have the answer to. Sorry if you were waiting on pins and needles.
Blog blog bloggity blog. What do I have to offer? I could blog about yoga, like Jennie O-6, or about veganism, like Anthony Z, but I’m certainly not as cool or organized as those two. Me? I just write. I just. Write.
But not enough.
What is it, that weird thing inside of me that knows what I am supposed to Do With My Life and yet refuses to actually do it? I have gone to great lengths in my avoidance of doing what I was Meant To Do. (Insert MFA in Acting here.) And now, my life is a mish mosh of half-hearted activity, survival schemes, and creative decadence. No regrets. Lots of lessons. But, ultimately, it has become important to ask myself the Big Question. In the words of Zooey Deschanel on a recent episode of New Girl, “Do I self-sabotage? Am I a cylon?”
Well, I hope not. Except for the immortality part, that would suck. But at least I would know the origin of my uncanny arm strength.
So, here is what I have to offer. My struggle. My honest-to-goodness-this-sucks-but-I-know-I-have-to-do-it struggle to write. Be. A writer. Ugh. Even that sounds so pretentious and boring. But Maynard told me I had to say it.
Are you with me?
I need coffee.