The other night I was in the grocery store and passed some pots of daffodils. They got me thinking about those I planted at the ranch a few years ago.
Indeed, thinking about it, I'm amazed at the different lives I've lead. They all seem so disparate, almost as if they were completely different lives, but at the same time, I know I was there, as me, through them all.
Growing up in Kentucky, figuring myself out, dealing with the trials of school, and opening the video store there; living in the dorm and then the apartments in Boston, taking the T and walking everywhere in the freezing cold streets; being married with kids in L.A., having two hour talks with Larry while driving to the weekend houses, and knowing he was there to protect me; and now in San Diego, living in my apartment by myself, working like I've never worked before, trying to not let bills cave in on me, and wanting to make enough money to have my book published. They've all been so different. And yet, quite ironically, starting half a year into my life in Boston, they're chronicled here.
But I haven't read them... Except for 1995, which, essentially, is the book, I haven't gone back and read the entries. I know I could, but doing so would no more make them seems as one life. I'm 26 now, and what a life I've lead. What a life I lead. I wouldn't trade it, but I definitely have an appreciation for the saying, "a lifetime ago." I've had four now... and I don't want to stop.
March 13, 2002 - Wednesday 9:23PM
The other day, Jay said he wished he was as dumb as the girl in his front office. He was caught up in the stresses of his life and career, yet she was working her mindless job and seemingly being happy. I countered with something about ignorance being bliss and then asked him if he really wished he was dumb. He didn't, and I knew he didn't... yet the question remains: why not?
If ignorance really is bliss, and I very much believe that it is, why wouldn't one prefer to be ignorant? Indeed, I've often wondered is it really "better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all"? I can't help but think that it is, even though one would likely happier not knowing what he was missing. Yet that doesn't seem certain either. Is my blind uncle better off because he could never see? Or is my aunt, his wife, the luckier one because she had her sight as a child?
But more importantly, why do I get caught up wondering these things?
Today, as I was pulling out of the drive, I looked to the left then to the right and then back to the left as I was turning out (to the left)... and then I started wondering, does everyone look left-right-left when turning left? Or do some people look right-left-right? And turning right, you always just look left-right. Why?
I realized, of course, that as for turning right, you just look left-right because you're not worried about traffic coming from the right: You're turning into it. But then I wondered if Britons do it the opposite way? Do most of them look right-left-right and then only right-left for a left turn?
I know I'm not the only one who wonders such things and I wouldn't turn off that inquisitive nature if I could... but sometimes I do wonder, so to speak. Just how many people are like me; wondering at the end of a day where nothing has changed if it is as non-productive as it seems... or if it's really productive in the long run... like letting up on the gas pedal and having the engine cool down before it overheats.
March 19, 2002 - Tuesday 1:11AM - Technically March 20, 2002
For over a year after I moved out, I did hardly a smidgen of work. Instead, I lived on credit cards and a dwindling income from intellectual property rights. Then last fall I realized I was approaching a point where I either got my ass in gear or I ended up going broke and moving home. The idea of heading back to Kentucky had its appeal, but if I returned, I wanted to go on my terms, not out of necessity.
And so, I got my ass in gear. In the past few months, I've worked like I've never worked before. I wake up thinking about work and I go to sleep thinking about work. I talk about work non-stop, and whenever Jay and I are out and there's a pause in the conversation, his question of "what are you thinking about?" always gets the same answer, "Three guesses: work, work, or work."
And yet I can't help but feel that it's pointless. Yeah, financially I'm recovering... or at least I will be recovering, but I've hardly had time at all to write in the journal or pursue getting the book published. If I die tomorrow, will it really matter that I've got thousands of dollars worth of credit card debt?
I don't know. I'm not complaining about work: that's not it. I'm just feeling like personally, on my "things I want to accomplish in my lifetime" list, I'm not making any progress and I'm 26. One one level, I appreciate that the journal is one of the (relatively) few personal sites started in 1995 that's still online and adding new stuff today. There's got to be something said for that... but still, it seems so much less than of what I'm capable.
I keep thinking, maybe just maybe, that right someone will read what I've written and contact me about getting it published. Sending little videos to Jamie, he jokes back, "You should have your own TV show." The crazy part is that I know he's right. It was even a topic of discussion with Larry and Dan, this guy who works with such things, when I was still flying out to L.A. from Boston... six years ago. I know it's up to me to make it happen, and while I'm not moving forward at a superb pace -- heck, hardly at all, I'm not moving backwards either. I'm hanging in.