Six months.
::crickets chirping::
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve touched this thing.
From all appearances, I’m back to my old (procrastinat-ive?) ways of binge-posting during times of personal turmoil and then disappearing for an extended amount of time. On one hand, it’s great that I haven’t needed this or any potential feedback this might bring as an emotional crutch. On the other hand, I’m if I ever want to make something of this blog, I must discipline myself and create merely for the sake of creating.
I’ve felt myself growing a bit restless as of late. Maybe it’s the morbid realization that I could cruise effortlessly down my current path until I die. I’ve been blessed with a steady career, a beautiful wife, a house in the suburbs, and a decent plan to eradicate all personal debt from my life (not too bad for being 28, considering that just a few years ago I was an over-educated bartender scared absolutely sh*tless by uncertainty of the future – acting very much the part.)
As a teenager I was adamant that my daily life would never resemble anything close to “routine”. I was a disciple of Kerouac and Holden Caufield — my patron saints of impulsivity and unbridled freedom.
Unfortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective), I realized that this approach to life combined with my lack of independent wealth would sooner lead me to a state of homelessness than to the legendary road trips across landscape Americana and late nights in hazy underground jazz clubs that I had imagined. But realization of foolishness doesn’t always (and probably never does) kill the hunger.
So, I make compromises (compromise ≠ sacrifice)… like riding my motorcycle to the office in an Oxford and dress slacks, and jumping out of an airplane when the opportunity presents itself.
It’s tricky.
Ps. If you own a plane and a parachute, hit me up.
