I honestly couldn’t tell you.
A few nights ago I was standing in my kitchen, in my underwear, eating a Hot Pocket… going through a mental catalog of my life up to this point. The last thing I accomplished, ever, that I can recall was when passed my black belt ceremony for Tea Kwon Do, all those years ago. Since then, I’ve never bothered or tried to see anything through. My life at this point, is pretty well… dismal. I’m 30, I’m broke all the time, and frankly I had about all I could take of it. I haven’t felt like I was worth anything at all in so long that I had all but given up. For the past 10 years of my life I have done absolutely nothing, and I don’t say that to get pity or even a thought of ‘oh that’s not true!’ I say it because it’s the truth. I know myself, I know what I’ve been doing and I have NOT been trying. I’ve been floating along hoping that things would just magically ‘work out’ and waiting for a sign or something to get motivated.
I wanted to feel that … high I got from actually getting that belt. I was so proud of myself, because it was so hard for me to do. The training and all the times the instructors yelled at me and all the bumps but they always believed I could do something with my life. They believed in me, just like a lot of my friends, and acquaintances over the years have, but the one person who didn’t was the one person who actually counted. Me. I have done a very good job over the years convincing myself that I wasn’t that good, that I wasn’t that smart, and that I would never be able to do anything big again.
For the past 10 years, I’ve wanted more than anything to write a book.
For the past 7 years the book has been in this perpetual re-write limbo where I throw out everything and start over.
For the past 5 years I’ve done nothing at all with it but sit around.
I want to finish something again, I want to do it so bad and for the first time in a long time I’ve managed to identify the source of my problem. Distractions. I always get wrapped up in a game or website or project of some sort that’s supposedly more fun than the ‘work’ of writing. Where has that gotten me? I’ll tell you.
Standing alone, in my crappy apartment, at 1 am eating a god damn hot pocket in my underwear.
I just… can’t do this anymore. I’m motivated to finish this god damn book once and for all. I’ve begun the process of re-compiling all my written material, all the re-writes, all the extra and miscellaneous notes and bits. I’ve discovered an easy way to publish and distribute this book, and I am setting for myself an artificial deadline for the first draft. December 25th. I can’t think of a better Christmas gift to myself than to get the book sent off for it’s first ever editing.
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