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Maybe I'm supposed to have taken control of my life by now -- but you know, all my life it seems I've been waiting for something...
What that something is, I couldn't tell you. I feel lost -- adrift -- and it's nothing new.
I love having creative projects to work on, but it's hard to maintain focus on them in this house, as part of a family of five. Writing? Yeah, writing I can do, but I can't tell you how many trains of thought have been derailed in that realm -- how many words, sentences, paragraphs have begun to form in my head only to be blasted away by some random (non-) emergency. Writing is the easiest thing to get back to and the best kind of project to be working on while staying connected to e-mail and instant messaging (while drinking, smoking, and listening to music).
Yet, working on fiction requires the same kind of solitude I can't seem to find in order to work on my music...
What I need is to be able to wake up when I want to, with no one around to bug me, and an open-ended frame of time in which to create. Novelists often go off somewhere to work in private, and other artists have studios. I have a crowded house, and only a few hours at a time by myself. There's always some demand or other on my attention. When I do get to be alone, in the back of my mind is an expiration date on that solitude -- one I often can't read...
One great fantasy that I share with countless millions is winning the lottery. But, would that solve my dilemma? Only if I made it a priority, naturally. I've told myself that, if such a windfall does come, that will be my chance to finally build (electric) vehicles of my own design. Wouldn't that be a way to not only make a significant creative contribution, but help change the world as well?
I'd also like to set up shop, picking up where the late Jim Cadle left off, producing copies of the Flag of Earth to sell. Seriously, I still think it's an image, just when people see, it, will help bring us all together. Mugs, T-shirts...
Is that it? Am I waiting for a lottery win, so I can do whatever the bleep I want? Sounds pathetic. So what if someone once told me (and repeatedly confirmed) that it was in the cards for me? Should I really take that on faith, or should I be taking hold of my own destiny, making things happen for myself?
It's all too easy to dream of the things you'd do, if you could pretty much do anything you wanted. It's all too easy, for that matter, to sit here and write about it.
Maybe I'm waiting for The End of the World As We Know It, the inimitable change that will happen at the end of this particular Long Count of the Mayan Calendar. I'm quite convinced the world will be a much better place after that, one I'm much better suited to. Maybe then, and only then, will I be able to reach my true potential.
Maybe all the experiences I'm having in this life are leading up to that, preparing me for something I can only dream of...
But what of the next five years? What will I do until then?
I need to get organized, and doggedly apply myself to the project at hand, whichever project that is at the time. I need to stop dreaming long enough to DO something.
Yeah, sure, I'm doing something right now. I be bloggin'. Big whoop.
One of my favourite all-time drivers, Colin McRae, bit it this weekend. He crashed his helicopter, taking his son, and his best friend, and his son's best friend with him. Ouch.
I once asked myself how long I'd live, and the answer came back so quickly and clearly that I can't doubt it: 147. I'll live to be 147 years old, this time around. Plenty of time to make some sort of impact, one might say, but it's tough to be 40 and try to rely on the next 107 years for my life to begin to mean something.
Yeah, here I am, kicking myself in the head. Self-admonition...
I have too many unfinished projects to count. I have spoons to carve, to sand, to apply oil to. I have an abandoned novel, and a short story that was supposed to have been the beginning of another novel. I gave up on a career in furniture-building, mid-project (in my defense, there were circumstances beyond my control). I have several automotive designs in my head, and way too few visual representations of them. I'm supposedly in a band, but I have yet to compose anything for it or teach myself to play my bass guitar.
In short, I have little to show for my life, so far. Colin McRae was 39. Even closer to my age, at the time, was Kurt Cobain. If I were to suddenly be no more (which I won't -- see above), I'd hardly be missed.
No biggie, no pressure, more than a century left. Right? Not exactly.
There will be those who will say that my being a part of a surf band (even if we create a new genre, 'electrosurf'), at my age, is evidence of a 'mid-life crisis'. Bleep all those people -- I won't reach 'mid-life' until I'm in my seventies.
Yeah, maybe I'll look back at tonight, and this post, glibly. I'm looking forward to that. You're reading the post of someone who is about to BURST. I can't take it anymore.
Something's gotta give.
Phil Smith
September 16, 2007
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