“Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.’”
― John Greenleaf Whittier, Maud Muller – Pamphlet
For a long time, work got in the way of life.
That was a choice; and not one, now, I’m proud of.
As I’ve previously said, I don’t want to wait until I retire before fully expressing myself. Why should I?
But, and here’s the kicker, I’ve never focused on what it is I’m trying to build.
A career. Yes.
But a legacy outwith that paradigm.
I know that rather than indulge my short-term pleasure with blogging or social media, I should, by now, have written down and agreed at least one serious project that I need to invest all my creative juice in seeing to a conclusion. If it takes six months or six years, then so be it.
Do I write a book?
Do I produce art?
Do I sort out my house?
As yet, I can’t decide.
And, to be honest, I find this disheartening not least because I’ve always assumed that my muse or whoever it is that’s in charge would take me by the scruff of the neck and force me to do the work. After all, this was how it felt with work when I was trying, for all those years, to climb the corporate ladder.
I know I’m a dilettante or inveterate procrastinator but it’s not for the lack of trying. I am, though, again, trying to change my non-existent habits by doing small things each day to move me in a more creative direction. But even that is feeling much more challenging than it should be. It’s not like I’ve more important things to do but, seriously, I really shouldn’t be sitting down of an evening and watching TV but instead doing the bloody work.
All I can hope for is that at some stage the heat of my passion will consume the rest of my life in such a way that I’ve no choice but to create, and what emerges is what emerges. For now, at least, I’m intent on writing more online and by hand. It’s not the answer to my building-something woes but it sure feels better than putting my feet up on life.