Looking out at the fine spring weather. I could probably trick myself into thinking everything is great. It wouldn’t be true but it would feel good to tell myself that.
Funny how it is so hard to learn nothing stays the same, that time passes and everything changes. People change. I always think I stay the same but I only need to look in the mirror to tell it isn’t so. Yet I cling to that illusion of being able to hold on to a status forever. Freeze the frame. Sometimes I wish I could go backwards, return to the place in time I was happy and satisfied with life. Was there ever such a moment, such a place? If I could be there, would I really forever like it and not wish to change it eventually?
Yet, all I wish now is to find the way out of the place and time I’m in. Have it go away, replace it with something I might like better. No luck. All there is to do is get a grin and bear it. Nothing and nobody can save me unless I save myself. The problem is I have no solution. I don’t have any fight left in me. If I could I’d stay in bed all day and night. Not do anything about anything.
What I once looked for I don’t expect to find anywhere. I looked in all the wrong places. Went into situations with stupid expectations and no wonder I came out disappointed in the outcome of it all. It was my own mistake and I learned the lessons the hard way, one by one, year after year. Then some time ago it dawned on me what a fool I had been for so long. Or rather what a fool I had let myself become. Such an idiot. Gullible to the core. However sudden the awakening was it did do me good. With some perspective I can see that. Not without pain but still with some joy also. I can’t undo what I learned so there is no way back to the old self but I can look back and remember the good parts. I don’t want to go back to that but I still can miss the feeling I had while I was there.
New days ahead. New spring ahead. Light and warmth returning. Nature comes back to life. Kind of the right time to make a fresh start. Question is: a fresh start of what?
Once I used to write stories, short and long. Fiction. I had ideas for characters and settings, plots and stories. I pictured myself as a Swedish answer to Tolkien or Stephen King. I would create worlds of wonder and mystery, or simply find the thrills in the everyday places. Nothing much became of that. Sure, I wrote a lot from early teens to mid-twenties, but then it seemed to stop. I started studying, things happened around me. For a long time all I wrote were papers, essays and reviews. Not a word of fiction. I kept feeding my imagination with movies and television, comics and some novels but I stopped writing fiction. Until this blog thing started. Here, after a while, I did write some short texts that were pure fiction. Not often but at least I gave it a try. Of course, I mostly wanted to try to be funny but nevertheless I was writing something again.
I have had ideas sometimes during the 20+ years of not writing any stories, of new stories to write, but I haven’t got to the point where I commit to writing them. Somehow, I no longer picture myself as the writer stuck in his den, typing page after page of pure storytelling gold. Once upon long ago, that was my image of myself, my present self and my future self. The writer, the author, making a living by writing stories everyone would want to read. Well, it was a nice dream.
Then the dream of a life in the academic world was born through my studies, a life as a scholar with days filled to the brim with research projects and perhaps some teaching on the side. Again, the ghost of Tolkien can be seen in the mists surrounding this dream. Short as it was. Ended when my studies crashed due to illness and other mishaps.
Along the side of this scholar dream I had a somewhat more realistic ambition to make a living from writing articles and reviews about movies and cinema. I had a short “career” in this field around the beginning of the millennium, but once again things didn’t pan out the way I wished.
Then all writing stopped for some years, except this blog. At the first place I was sent to as a part of the unemployment office program, I finished my studies after a very long pause of more than 10 years and later started writing all kinds of non-fiction texts. First I wrote for my own blog project that never really got much attention and later for the internal newsletter of the place I was at. That newsletter got a lot of attention and also made me start to feel some confidence as a writer, which I had not felt for a long time, if ever. It dawned on me that I actually can write things that people like to read. The best part of it was to work with others in the editing staff though. I got a taste of something I would like to work with for real. So, when it ended, with no good reason other than the rules of the program, I lost all of the good momentum I had been building. After that, at the new place, back to not having any good projects or anything to work with, I’m down and out.
No longer willing or able to do anything. Except look for jobs. My writing has stopped again. I see no point in trying to create things to write when I have no deadlines or any idea of who will be reading, or where or at all. Makes the work pointless. Except as therapy but I have this blog for that part. I use this as the outlet for my thoughts, feelings and everything else on my mind. I don’t want to write those things in an office surrounded by unknown people, not knowing who will be reading over my shoulder and get the wrong ideas by not having the full picture of who I am and where I’m coming from.
Sure, they might find this blog online and recognize me, but here the full picture is available – all the posts, all the way back to June 2005. Here, I’m in charge of what gets published and when. This is my personal blog, reflecting me and my life. Not a part of any program or aimed at a certain audience.
With that, I stop. This post has broken all the rules of a blog post already. On the other hand,I heard that blogs are on the way out, being replaced by other social media outlets. I don’t care. As long as I want to write, I’ll keep writing here. There’s only so much that can be expressed with 140 characters anyway.