What's in a title?
I haven't written on here in what... 11ish years? Essentially, that means I have not written for myself since then. I don't journal, I don't really post on social media much, and I don't really write for anything other than work and personal communication. On one hand, it feels absurd that I haven't let my brain just put thoughts to coherent text in over a decade, but on the other hand it seems that is par for the course. Follow through, discipline, and commitment is not my strong suit.
How profound and unique, right? A white, male, human not keeping up with something!
In any event, I didn't come here because I felt I had neglected this, writing in general, or even my own self-expression. Rather the urge to put thoughts to text struck in the midst of mild inebriation. Not even sure I have anything specific to say, but I gave in to the compulsion and trust that the urge was of importance for something.
That urge in and of itself is intriguing I guess. I haven't had such an inclination in 11 years and yet for some reason now? Likely, there is a reason, be it simply the alcohol, my recent thirtieth birthday, or the imminence of my first child. However, over analysis of the subconscious motivation feels irrelevant (not to say that usually stops my over analysis).
I admit when I came here I was tempted to reread what I wrote before, but I was acutely aware of the fact I would likely cringe at writing, beliefs, and personality displayed in that writing so I stopped myself. While I am not saying I won't ever read it there were two thoughts I had; First, why judge my past self? Second, I frankly didn't feel like enduring the psychological impact that my past intellect would have inevitably caused.
That said reflecting on who I was then (or at least who I recall I was) is odd. In 2011, I was single, was attending college at Mizzou, had never had a "real job", and really (unbeknownst to me) was directionless. I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing, going to college and being social. Turns out, that wasn't for me. I left college, for a semester, started to work at Home Depot, moved out to live with my older brother and tried to determine what I wanted. I ultimately ended up going to community college starting at the beginning of 2012 and later that year began dating Angie (whom I have since married and am expecting my daughter with in a matter of weeks). While I question my area of study and even the principle of college to some extent those two event and the way they both impacted me so profoundly truly made me who I am today.
I discovered that love and education were both freeing and awe-inspiring when pursued genuinely and with a strong sense of self-determination. For clarity I should back-up some I suppose. I had long felt love for Angie, but had never acted on it for fear of damaging out existing friendship (and an unhealthy fear of rejection). Similarly, I always enjoyed learning, but hated school so I finally focused on learning with little emphasis on the schooling I was receiving itself. That is to say, I shifted to an Adam oriented approach, not in a selfish way per se, but in a making sure I did what worked for me way.
There are so many things I could call out since that 2012 year and now, but that's not my intent for now. Rather, I suppose, my intent is to express appreciation for my journey. It wasn't easy and it may not be novel or movie worthy by many accounts, but the journey is my own and it was exceptionally meaningful. I can't say I always enjoyed it or appreciated appropriately, but I do now see how beautiful and important it was.
There is a, painfully true, joke in my family that Dents have to make our mistakes for ourselves to truly learn. At times that feels asinine and absurd to think that we would see a negative outcome for someone else and then repeat the "mistake" despite evidence suggesting we shouldn't. However, that seems reductionist. Observing externally actions and outcomes is effectively worthless if you don't understand the actual cause and effect. I can't deny that there is a seemingly self-destructive consequence to that line of thinking, however, I think this can be explained with the oft shared (though poorly internalized) wisdom that you can learn more from your failures than your successes.
That is all kind of to say, I have failed, and I am glad I did. Yet somehow I still fear failure despite me owning it so much thanks for the life I live. I struggle to wish failure for myself or others, but I would be remise if I didn't recognize that failures that teach are more valuable than any other well wishing I could possibly do.
I am feeling the itch to right being satisfied (or waning for other reasons?) by this stream of consciousness. However, I will hit one more topic before I move on. That topic is the people I have "left behind". I am thinking about the fact that I have had the incredible privilege to know many incredible people who have all taught me something. There are many of these people that I haven't spoken to in years, generally speaking since the years mentioned above (2011/2012), but not for lack of love for those people, but I guess rather because as my life and my own sense of self has changed our relationship was not updated to reflect that new paradigm.
I can't help but to feel that is a failure of my own making and it causes me some pain. Despite my fond ramblings on the benefits of failure above, I do not relish this failure. I am sure there is much learning to be had from that failure, but it still pains me and I still dream of some how rectifying it. Can I, and should I though?
I feel obligated to cap this off with some nice synopsis, but I think I will resist. Those are my thoughts. Coherent or not; profound or not; intriguing or not; that's them and there they shall remain.