Sissy Face

I’m struggling right now.  HUGEly.  Every day. 

I quit my job so I could write full time and it is hard.  And I am failing. 

Since getting back from the retreat I’ve struggled every single day.  I haven’t written much, I haven’t finished much.  I’ve been ok at sending things out into the world (scripts).  I’ve tried to get together with friends, keep occupied.  Interesting, odd, mysterious projects are percolating.  But not a lot of solid things.

Mysterious, intangible projects are great.  Sometimes they become things.  But I still feel like it’s been a month since I got anything done.

I content myself with the fact that sometimes I do something else productive: I play music for 2 hours; I read a book on screenwriting, which I want to try.

But writing is not happening.

I’m halfway through my experiment.  When I quit my job I had 6 months of savings.  I’m now three months in.  The specter looms.  Not only the immediate specter but the lifelong one: “I’ve got all the time in the world and I’m not writing?  That must mean I can’t be a writer.  Not a real writer anyway.”

These are thoughts I have.

What’s new for me, and a good sign, is that I do not find the above to be sad, bad, wrong, problematic.  “I have worries, sure: I have three months until my return to the real world.”  “It’s not fun to struggle.”  These things worry me.

But this: I’m not satisfied, but I’m happy.

I am (or I am getting closer to?) enjoying the struggle.  Or at least appreciating and honoring the struggle.  I’m getting there.

Myth of Sisyphus, y’all.  Look that up.

On top of the above, I’m having a lot of struggles as a man.  There seem to be 4 John J Kings: the one others perceive, the one I see in myself, the one I WANT to be, and the one I actually am with all the bs stripped off. 

Again: struggling.  The one I want to be and the one I am are quite far apart. 

The one people seem to see me as is a little closer to the one I want to be (sometimes), but for me that just reaffirms how far I actually am.

I’m just a dude playing a dude who thinks he’s another dude.

The man I wish to be is the man who loves, who is best friends with the boulder.  The man who walks up to the boulder every day with a grin.  “Hey old friend!  Wanna go on a ride?  We’re gonna go up that hill over there – don’t worry, I’ll help you – and then roll all the way back down!” 

Every day.

The writing boulder, the man boulder, the friend boulder, the lover boulder, the spirit boulder, the money boulder, the world boulder.  All the boulders.

I don’t know how to end this.  But for this I think that’s ok.  Because it doesn’t end (until, you know: IT ENDS).  The rock just rolls back and you start again.

And that sounds like writing.  Which means it needs a rewrite.  So how bout it?  Wanna go up the hill?