Sometimes, I get overwhelmed by life. Ok, most of the time I get overwhelmed by life. Pretty much always, actually.
Someone said I needed to update my blog. I’m guessing they meant with actual new content, not just republishing random satire.
For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to identity and how we discern who we are based on what we do. For some people, that might be their career. I have many friends who have pursued one ambition doggedly, and with success, for years or decades. Other friends find their passion in one cause, or maybe two. Some dabble, collecting little pieces of interests that create a mosaic of themselves.
When I wrote Drawings From the Top of the Seasonal Affective Disorder Rollercoaster, I portrayed October as the top of the coaster, poised over the abyss of winter. It’s more complicated than that. While I love Halloween, the track to get there is full of potholes.
I haven’t felt much like writing.
Sometimes this is the canary in the depressive coalmine but I’m not sure that’s the case right now. My goal this year was to write less but write better. Quality over quantity. Somehow that has led to writing almost nothing at all.
This weekend, a friend and I took our daughters to White Lake. I grew up going there for a week every summer — it’s a place full of so much nostalgia. Extra so, since absolutely nothing has changed in the last 30 years. Well ok, fewer people chain smoking on the beach. Also, there are now mini fridges in the motel rooms.