Ideas are cyclical. It’s why I cover similar ground in these journal posts. Human memory is short. History—even personal history—is easily forgotten, and lessons must be relearned over and over. Revisiting the ideas that circulate in my brain is inescapable. As they turn over, I perpetually attempt to understand myself and the patterns I fall into.
My dad recently told me he still has one of his old journals from the 70s. He browsed through it and said he hasn’t changed too much. He still thinks about similar things. It’s a testament to the nature of humans to find a groove and trace it time and again.
As we keep tracing, we cut deeper to the heart of us. It is not by filling ourselves, but by carving away that we find meaning.
My identity as a writer is of great interest to me. It is an extension of my core. My dreams for it rise and fall, undulating like a tide I both love and hate. I believe my success is just a matter of time, then I question why I’m doing this in the first place.
I ultimately come to the same conclusion. It matters. To me. To others—hopefully one day.
What would I do if I wasn’t pursuing the life of a writer? I’m not sure, but I might be happier. We do things so long, we become those things. We can’t see ourselves any other way or doing any other thing. And we struggle. That’s what life is. That’s what story is. Highs and lows. Conflict and resolution. Rising up and stumbling down. This too shall pass and it always does.
I’m not sure what to do about this reality, or if there is anything to be done. All I can do is capitalize on the highs and push through the lows. This cycle is part of the human condition. We face conflict. We overcome it. We grow. We move on.
If I wasn’t writing, if I wasn’t teaching, for in my mind the two are inseparable, I would still have to do something, because life is action. Life is living.
Since I was a teenager, I’ve struggled with life. An abstract grapple that feels vague, yet personal. A not-knowing what I’m here for. A craving for meaning and purpose. So I keep carving away, attempting to figure it all out, climbing mountains and facing valleys, pushing onward and upward so that I may once more savor the sun.
Onward and upward,
Lee
