LIGHT
I always try and follow up a heavier day with something light. To say I’m successful may be generous but I try. Shit’s like lead as it is, no need to add my toe to the scale. The thing about forced lightness though is it feels just that, forced.
For some reason the images from the trippy music video for Soundgarden’s 1994 hit, Black Hole Sun, immediately come to mind. You should watch it. You’ll get the point.
I wasn’t even a fan of Soundgarden. I mean Chris Cornell was great and I liked the hits, but I never owned an album nor said. “I sure would like to listen to some Soundgarden today.”
I’ve derailed already. This isn’t light at all.
That’s the thing with forced lightness or “trying to be in a good mood.” It’s like the brain revolts against it and says “Oh yeah? Eff me? Nope. Eff you!”, and like the honey badger, just does what it wants. “WATCH OUT SAYS THAT BIRD!!”
If you’re now thinking that clearly I’m drunk at 5:47 a.m., fear not. I’ll bring it back. I always (think) I do.
Today marks day two in a row of writing again. It’s not perfect, but I’ve so far not thrown a fit and stopped and this, in and of itself is a step in the right direction. Light and airy I go forth. Spreading cheer and good tidings like an April Santa Claus. Here’s one thousand words you didn’t think you’d miss this morning.
Each sentence is bringing me closer to that anecdote. To that glimmering shiny thing in the desert. An oasis or mirage? Too soon to know, but we keep walking towards it. Looks like there’s water to quench my thirst. Looks like a shady spot to rest. POOF! Disappeared. Again.
The process of this today is excruciating but seeing it through seems to matter a lot. I spoke yesterday about a wall being built, one brick at a time. Slowly added. The first rows go out horizontally so you don’t notice them as much, then they are shin high and you haven’t written (or exercised, or done whatever) for a month and you land on “Oh well, it was good while it lasted.” The important things in life merit slamming your shins through the walls.
Day two is more important than day one. You can fake day one. All giddy and ready for your new start. It goes well! You’re energized and think for sure that day two will be simple. Sometimes it is. Most times. It’s not.
“Why do I bother?”
“Who am I doing this for?”
“This doesn’t matter.”
All the things we have said before, we say again. We could go up and get another cup of coffee and just go back to surfing the internet, but that’s the easy way. (CLICHE COMING:WARNING!!) Nothing important is ever easy. (There it is). So instead we (I) keep going.
Today’s (this) entry is really about endurance. Or something like endurance. It’s about accepting a mediocre effort as an effort nonetheless. Effort is all we have. If we are giving it every single day, it has to ebb and flow. We can’t be on everyday. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar, or at the least, easily hateable.
Small victories and such matter. I won’t give you the “we should celebrate all of them,” cliche as sometimes checking the box is all we need to do. A dumpster fire of an effort should be recognized with a nod and we should carry on with the day. Or buy a fucking cake if you must. Today this is your fun ship.
If you’re scoring at home. This post at the least, is cloudy. Not full on dark, but for sure not light and airy like a meadow of blooming wildflowers. People use pictures of wildflowers and hip high grasses, gleaming in the sunlight to represent rebirth, new starts, the beauty of the natural world. I see allergies. Sneezing. Snot. Watery eyes. I mean it’s still pretty, but there’s many sides to everything in life. As such, I’m hopeful you found a little something here today. These bluebonnets are for you. My morning gift.
Today I can check a box of productivity that I haven’t been able to in 2/4ths of a month. Back to back posts. It truly is a Christmas miracle, but snark aside. This actually matters.
For a solid few weeks, I’ve stewed and either felt sorry for myself or just said screw it and let this go. I need this. I need this as some sort of therapeutic release and you, as my unqualified therapists (please do not give me your diagnoses, this is tongue in cheek). The act of completing this laborious, boring ass essay(?), post, short non fictional novella(?) will stoke the fire of better short non fictional memoirs and novellas you never asked for. It almost, pretty much, does about 37% of the time, always.
Bad writing begets more writing which hopefully leads to good writing and every once in a long while, even great writing. If I open the news on a regular old Thursday, I’ll find people getting paid to write for newspapers and websites and the like that can’t form solid sentences; that can’t bother to proofread at all (I feel you kids). They vomit some facts, and end mid idea with “There is no more information at this time.” If the information sources of the world are okay with that, then this is a Hemmingwayian effort in comparison.
Some days, being the light in someone’s day is the act of saying, “hey, give it a minute. It’s a little gloomy over here right now but the sun oughta burn through by lunch.”
Man. That was laborious. I said that four times So it must be true
Go out and give the day a good dick kicking!
#hugsandhi5s
