I'm unsure what to rant about today. I feel like in keeping with my new focus on writing, and therefore blogging, I want to at least contribute a wee bit to this blog. Two entries in the span of week seems unheard of after a year of silence.
So let's break the silence.
Where am I at today? In life? Well that's a frustrating answer. So I'm not going to dwell on it, because I would be digressing into the same rants I have about the same issues I always have on the same topic of how I always do the same things the same way and never make the same changes I need to make.
By which I mean, I need to stop running in every direction and find a focus. This will lead to doing those projects and things I find enjoyable, and that in turn may lead to satisfaction in a career when I excel at it. I should note that as arrogant as it might sound, I do feel capable of excellence. I also feel I run from one thing to the next without ever investing the time I should into something to make excellence.
If you look at the previous entry, it ought to be apparent that I moving in that direction, or at least am striving to. You might suspect I'm giving up on costuming, but I'm not. No, giving up is not the term. I'm letting slip away into the dark oblivion because it's not the focus I want it to be. It's neither fulfilling enough or motivating enough to put up with the downsides. And under that scrutiny it's simply a time sink instead of an asset.
All my life I have wanted to do everything. I have wanted to be everything. This is great in terms of exploration and the assimilation of new ideas and experiences. But it's also the whim of a child. It is impossible for us to be everything, and if let yourself by pulled in every direction by every torrent, you'll end up in pieces with little to show for it.
This metaphor does a disservice, however, because I think the truly interesting people I know are the ones who continually explore in life. I'm not advocating that one shouldn't indulge their hobbies, their interests and their thirst for continued growth and knowledge. Far from it. In fact, I have noticed this in my adventures estate sale-ing, which a few friends and I embark on many a Saturday morning. Not like a typical garage sale, you are usually invited to explore the house of the recently deceased, exploring their belongings and their home, making offers on things you find. Many people go for the useful items, but I can tell you I bring home only the most unique and bizarre. I can get a cake pan from anyplace, and I don't need some dead person's to bake a cake in. But a 1970's nut-cracking gun or a shot-glass set that lives in a wooden medieval tower are things you just can't find on a regular basis. They're unique, odd and capture my imagination. But the best part of estate sale-ing is always the story of the deceased. Their home tells you so much about them, whether they were an amateur surgeon with a closet-alcoholic wife, or someone far too fixated on black glass (both things we've encountered), you learn so much about another person. The saddest one we went to was someone whose entire life - books, music, decor - all was single-mindedly focused on the LDS church. It was depressing. There is so much to life, that to limit your views and enjoyment only to a single narrow stretch of thought was really sort of sad. To me, it spoke of a life wasted. Compare that to another home in which the couple clearly latched onto anything that took their fancy. Shelves full of books on how-to subjects across the board. Each room was a new discovery - photography, sewing, spinning one's own wool, filmmaking, painting, gardening, or design. Clearly they never stopped enjoying all that was available in the world. I love that. I want to be that.
My point here is that I just feel a need to put some constraints and limits how much I take on, and how much energy I devote to those things. Prioritize, is the simplest way to put that. I need to prioritize my life.
To further develop this idea, are the people you surround yourself with. I can honestly think of only a very few rare ones who both inspire me and make me want to push myself further. And I am ultimately grateful for such beings in my life. They show me how to live, how sculpt a healthy existence and how to find grains of unique perspective and madness. I often tout works that inspire me, but there is no replacement for the people who do so.
I am lucky.
This said, I can't allow people to become crutches. It's not you- it's me. I feel like placing stock or reliance in others is an unrealistic solution to solving the problems one has with their own development. We all know people who do this, and perhaps we are all guilty of it. One needs to move forward, don't they? And I intend to push myself with renewed focus, and to surround myself with those who help me to rethink the paths I'm on, to question and provide counterpoint to my assessments on life, and are good aids in self-actualization. Does that sound selfish? Alas. I'm never satisfied with my progress as a human being. There's always more to do, ways to be better, develop, and grow. Shouldn't a life well-lived intrinsically surround itself with decor that capitalizes upon that?
14 October 2011
11 October 2011
Salutations to the Champion
First: I know I haven't blogged in like a year. Which is sorta depressing as it becomes ever increasingly true that I need to write more. Not just on a sad, every-so-often basis, but as a basic need, required like sleeping and breathing. And eating. Let's not forget eating. Or drinking. I could use a drink right now.
Because, anymore, writing is the only door I can see that leads out of this dank well I sit it, waterlogged, and irritated. Other creative endeavors continue to remind me that instead of a free and exhilarating path, they are little more than road blockades. The biggest of these I've found in the collaborative arts are (naturally) the people. I suppose that's to be expected with the whole "collaborative" thing - and yet, for every positive experience it seems there are 4-5 poor experiences filled with douchu-bagus who drive you fucking crazy. I'm sure it's because they have a vision, are a true artist or were molested when they were young. Regardless, I'm tired of this bullshit in which I have no real creative say and start to feel more trapped than liberated by the art. And the drama. It's theater and costuming, or work, or whatever. But it's all drama, really. That's the part I can't stand. A bunch of self styled artists coming together to nurse their insecurities and stroke their egos. Isn't that just all part of the process? Part of the "art?"
Art. Ha.
Anyway, this leads to the premise that I need to limit that sort of unfulfilling existence and try to limit myself to things that are within my control and are satisfying for me. Like writing. Whether it's my novels, my blogs, or my screenplays, it's nice to be able to do something for myself, instead of pretending I'm a designer for a production which is just a pantomime in trying to allow the director to design everything themselves.
Assholes.
Right. So, anyway, the 1920's Murder Mystery is out of the way (I really ought to post on that) and while it was enjoyable and fulfilling, it was also a helluva lotta work and I'm over doing any of that right now. Once I finish Adding Maching for the The Babcock, I will officially be retiring from costuming, and c'est la vie, right? It's all good and I don't mind leaving it behind. Because while I enjoy costuming, I don't love it it like the poor, overworked, underpaid and under-appreciated mentors I have been privy to watch. It's time to turn to other interests. Where my ideas and opinions have a place. Where they matter. Which stems back to writing. Writing in a digital age. Where words and images are insanely cheap.
I guess I'll never be wealthy.
When I started this blog entry I half though this was going to be a review of Dragon Age II, for no real reason since I don't generally give reviews and usually not of video games. So why I felt compelled I do not know, but I do (oddly) feel it is important to explain my feelings on this game since it sorta left me sad and empty when it ended. Like Arkham Asylum. And also it's been sending me winding back towards my guilty (or not so) pleasure of the Fantasy genre, in reading, writing, and imagining.
Yes. I'm rambling.
And I'm writing a blog in the same manner Tim writes letters from the mission.
Hmm. Well, I'll send out the rest of these thoughts later, perhaps picking up more on the writing, the mystery, the death of my lackluster costuming career and video games. But in the meantime, it's a good day and it feels better now that I finally threw some words out. More to come. Def.
Because, anymore, writing is the only door I can see that leads out of this dank well I sit it, waterlogged, and irritated. Other creative endeavors continue to remind me that instead of a free and exhilarating path, they are little more than road blockades. The biggest of these I've found in the collaborative arts are (naturally) the people. I suppose that's to be expected with the whole "collaborative" thing - and yet, for every positive experience it seems there are 4-5 poor experiences filled with douchu-bagus who drive you fucking crazy. I'm sure it's because they have a vision, are a true artist or were molested when they were young. Regardless, I'm tired of this bullshit in which I have no real creative say and start to feel more trapped than liberated by the art. And the drama. It's theater and costuming, or work, or whatever. But it's all drama, really. That's the part I can't stand. A bunch of self styled artists coming together to nurse their insecurities and stroke their egos. Isn't that just all part of the process? Part of the "art?"
Art. Ha.
Anyway, this leads to the premise that I need to limit that sort of unfulfilling existence and try to limit myself to things that are within my control and are satisfying for me. Like writing. Whether it's my novels, my blogs, or my screenplays, it's nice to be able to do something for myself, instead of pretending I'm a designer for a production which is just a pantomime in trying to allow the director to design everything themselves.
Assholes.
Right. So, anyway, the 1920's Murder Mystery is out of the way (I really ought to post on that) and while it was enjoyable and fulfilling, it was also a helluva lotta work and I'm over doing any of that right now. Once I finish Adding Maching for the The Babcock, I will officially be retiring from costuming, and c'est la vie, right? It's all good and I don't mind leaving it behind. Because while I enjoy costuming, I don't love it it like the poor, overworked, underpaid and under-appreciated mentors I have been privy to watch. It's time to turn to other interests. Where my ideas and opinions have a place. Where they matter. Which stems back to writing. Writing in a digital age. Where words and images are insanely cheap.
I guess I'll never be wealthy.
When I started this blog entry I half though this was going to be a review of Dragon Age II, for no real reason since I don't generally give reviews and usually not of video games. So why I felt compelled I do not know, but I do (oddly) feel it is important to explain my feelings on this game since it sorta left me sad and empty when it ended. Like Arkham Asylum. And also it's been sending me winding back towards my guilty (or not so) pleasure of the Fantasy genre, in reading, writing, and imagining.
Yes. I'm rambling.
And I'm writing a blog in the same manner Tim writes letters from the mission.
Hmm. Well, I'll send out the rest of these thoughts later, perhaps picking up more on the writing, the mystery, the death of my lackluster costuming career and video games. But in the meantime, it's a good day and it feels better now that I finally threw some words out. More to come. Def.
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