On Beginning, Again, and then Again
Words I might use to describe this first missive - An outline. A rough sketch. An invitation. Ideations. Intentions. A warm welcome. The first X on a map. Spelunking. Easing in, mid-race. Welp!
“Where do I start?”
If I was writing a coaching book, I would probably lead with something like “Right Now, Right Where You Are!”. Or, “No Better Time Than The Present!”. One of my best friends has written a variety of these at length that work great.
Another classic - “Perfection is The Enemy of Progress.” Winston Churchill said that. Or maybe it was Einstein. Or Gandalf. It’s a memers world now. Which brings up a potential writing subject: Sarcasm. I’ll note that for a future, deeper dive. It’ll fit cozily with the rest of my notes, also saved for “later”. Oh, a piece on procrastination!! It’s what the people need. A perfect article to bookmark for later.
It’s fucking hard to start.
An armada of tiny dissenting thoughts, armed to their little teeth with minuscule swords and bad breath, descend on every strong intention, every good idea, every moment of inspiration. Like a fog of mosquitos around that beautifully curated glamping site overlooking that lake, forever nosing in on a good time. Reading The War of Art was helpful, for a time. The mosquitos evolve, and so must we. I think it was God who coined that one. Maybe this is already secretly my sarcasm piece. Can I ever escape? Oh, god!
I’m circling around “WHY?” so much that I’ve almost become too dizzy to concentrate. Instagram doesn’t help there. Don’t even get me started on TikTok. Ok but wait, I have saved a ton of recipes to try and I follow a thoughtful bodybuilder… net positives all over, if one can “steer clear” of the crash porn.
And with that, my segue into death is complete. I’d say it wasn’t my plan all along, but there’s a reason I play hours of TOTK a day. Distraction and avoidance, mostly. But, it’s also bonkers fun to play. Win/Win. This blank page on this very window has been hanging out watching me fuse my magic rod with a bokoblin penis and stuff it right down an oktorok’s wind hole. Gamers will know what I’m talking about, the rest of you… well I don’t know what you think. But leave a comment and follow me for more!
Good Grief. Bad Grief. All Grief, All The Time.
In truth, I want to talk lots more about it. In the last two years I’ve lost my father and we’ve lost our son. I’ve cried rivers, and most days it feels like I’ve tripped into an alternate universe, where up is down, left is right, and light is dark, etc, etc, and so on… it’s bizarro world all the time. There’s a clear line of demarcation now, inscribed on my existence. A before and after. I’m in some cosmic intermission, staring down at a melting urinal in the lobby just after the acid hits, being swirled into the drain of acceptance that the second half of the show is clearly not going to be at all like the first.
I think it will be more simple in many ways, though. A worst fear, realized and in the past. It’s galvanizing.
gal·va·nize
/ˈɡalvəˌnīz/
verb
shock or excite (someone) into taking action.
Consider me shocked I guess.
Our beautiful Seamus was with us for 5 months, here in this physical realm. I have much to say, to share about this. This being a new publication, I guess I just didn’t want to lead with that, but many of the words are already written, and, and, and... I’m just fucking winging everything right now.
There’s a family story that feels important to write, too. It’s got all the proper elements - music, suicide, abuse, alcoholism, travel, art, depression, love, heartbreak, a plane crash, disease, tragedy, deceit, mystery, fame, and if one squints hard enough, even a soothing arc of redemption. I wonder if that’s the part where I come in. Is writing about it ultimately an exercise in healing? Or will it just make things worse? Attention doesn’t feel the same as it used to, before the demarcation. There’s a level of privacy that I cherish, in an era where practicing the opposite appears to be rewarded the most handsomely.
There’s that big neon “WHY?” again.
What I can say is that there’s a feeling that resembles relief as more words appear on the screen. So that’s something. A passing of the gas, destined to be diluted and redistributed into the atmosphere, gone in an instant, yet ever-present. Inspired yet??
There’s a feeling of freedom amongst the rampant nihilism of exclaiming to my inner critic: “It doesn’t matter, nothing matters!”. Applying this through the scope of disposable media, some of the hooks find a snag. But in my view, every thing matters. I still turn over rocks, just in case. Even in a moment of unbearable pain, I remain curious, collecting bits - of matter, music, thought, stills, words - for sifting and sorting purposes. There’s a therapeutic process in it, my own brand of “method to madness”. I wonder what will happen if I share that?
I mentioned an invitation in my subtitle. You’re cordially invited. To what, you say?
I feel a call to connection and collaboration that I can’t readily define just yet. Amongst the many dark corners and troll bridges inherent to online life, there exists a seemingly infinite breadth of creational possibility too. I shared this quote by René Magritte on IG the other day, and I’ll leave it here too, as it feels relevant to my aims as I launch this substack.
“Experience of conflict and a load of suffering has taught me that what matters above all is to celebrate joy for the eyes and the mind. It is much easier to terrorize than to charm… I live in a very unpleasant world because of its routine ugliness. That’s why my painting is a battle, or rather a counter-offensive….
Our mental universe (which contains all we know, feel or are afraid of in the real world we live in) may be enchanting, happy, tragic, comic, etc.
We are capable of transforming it and giving it a charm which makes life more valuable. More valuable since life becomes more joyful, thanks to the extraordinary effort needed to create this charm.
Life is wasted when we make it more terrifying, precisely because it is so easy to do so. It is an easy task, because people who are intellectually lazy are convinced that this miserable terror is “the truth”, that this terror is knowledge of the “extra-mental” world. This is an easy way out, resulting in a banal explanation of the world as terrifying.
Creating enchantment is an effective means of counteracting this depressing, banal habit.
We must go in search of enchantment…”
So, the transmissions to follow may appear as different shapes and forms and moods. Long, short, heavy, light, sarcastic, earnest, musical, visual, whimsical, scholastic… with no particular destination, just yet.
“Who Cares?” says the battered, reluctant adventurer of my soul, a shit eating grin slashing across his face. “Just Go!”.
The metaphor of "tiny dissenting thoughts" armed with "minuscule swords and bad breath" paint a picture of the inner struggles we often face when trying to take that first step. Human experience, with all its highs and lows, doubts and certainties, and the ever-present quest for meaning and connection. It's a call to embrace the journey, wherever it may lead, and to find beauty and charm in the process of creating and sharing our stories.
So impossibly hard. And you’re DOING the work. Keep going. We’re here.