velocity

I just got back from a trip to California. San Francisco to be exact. It was actually the best vacation I have ever taken. Not that I’ve taken all that many. Now I have that post-vacation blues.

And I really shouldn’t.

Because I’m going back.

Sometime.

Sometime soon.

I hope.

My wife and I both agree that we belong there. We have dreams of living in an area like Palo Alto. But as usual, the anchor is pretty deep here in Dallas. Job commitments and family. The things that normally pull you away from following your heart. We had a discussion tonight about renting a U-Haul and going blindly. But it would never work. Not now. Not in this economy. Not with kids. Kids have a way of keeping you from being reckless. You owe them not to be. And they trust you to do the right things. But what is the right thing? Sometimes following your heart is the right thing to do. But sometimes it is not. And with my record of being right 50 percent of the time…

But it doesn’t matter. We’re going. It is just a matter of when.

I’m writing a novel. It is now going on six years and I’m doing the same thing I do every year at this time. I’m panicking. I kept telling myself that this is the year. I’m going to finish it. There is no way I am going to sit here a year from now, in the same situation, with the same sense of disappointment. I’m really going to do it this time.

This is the year.

I know what the problem is. Well, problems. It isn’t that I’m having trouble with the story. It is that I am having a difficult time making it a priority. And I have to come to terms with the fact that it is not going to be finished until I do make it a priority. I just ned to make the leap and start learning how to use the word no.

The second problem is that I’m scared. I wrote a novel when I was 28. It was good. It was good enough to land me an agent. And I thought I had hit it big. But not one publisher would bite. I was stunned. Disappointed. Depressed. My life pretty much fell apart after that. My wife asked for a divorce. I lost everything. It was no one’s fault but my own. I let it eat me alive.

Now, almost ten years later, I have a new life. A new family. And I am afraid that if I finish this book and it doesn’t get published, my life will fall apart again. I know it is stupid. But it sits in the back of my head to the point where I lose all confidence in myself, in my story.

But this is going to be the year. No matter what happens, this is going to be the year.

I created this blog in December of 2005. For just over two years, it has remained empty. I’m hoping to fill it up with something. What that something is, remains to be seen.

During the course of a day, I think of dozens of things to blog about. But when I actually have the chance to sit down and get it out, I suddenly feel uninspired. 

Uninspired is the best way to describe me lately. I’m just creeping up on middle age and the focus of my life has abruptly changed from looking to the future to examining my past. I know this is completely normal. I’m sure there are thousands of men just like me who have hit a point in their life where they feel like they have accomplished nothing. I’m certain I am not the only one who has regrets, who feels they could have done better. Been more ambitious. Attained more of their goals. I’m not a failure. I’ve accomplished a lot. The only problem is that my accomplishments have been achieved for the sake of other people. They weren’t really my goals, they were just the right things to do. 

So now, as I reach the middle of an average lifespan, I look back at the things I’ve done and wonder if I can do better. I just don’t know where to start.