I don’t only love writing

So, having looked back at my past blog posts and even my last few years of life I realize I come off as a pretty one-note guy. I think I have often presented myself as a man with only one skill (writing) and only one goal (living as a writer). The thing is, there is more to me than that, just as everyone else is more complex than almost anyone outside themselves can see. People are made of complications, complications of motive, complications of skill, complications of knowledge. People aren’t simple, no matter how simple they appear from outside. Then why do I portray myself as someone who only wants one thing?
I think it began to grow when I started introducing myself as a writer about three or four years ago. I thought that was the most important part of my life, and who knows, it may be so. However, even if that’s true, it remains more of a statement of my values than of my identity. I valued writing so highly through all those years that I treated it like a religion. I would become angry with people who didn’t see it the way I did, and I still do on occasion. But there’s more to me than writing. After all, I was a person before I became a writer, a teenager anyway.
I like to collect things. I tend to overindulge in delicious food. I enjoy stories and happy endings. I appreciate art (to a degree). I play games, though less so than I did in the past. I make miniatures. I probably want love more than money, but who can say really? I’m lazy, but I could focus intensely once upon a time. I am more than my preferences, just as I am more than my body-type, my weight, my diminishing hair, my growing beard.
For what it’s worth, I am also a writer, but I am not a financially successful writer. I may never be financially successful as a writer. Why then have I opted to put all my eggs in this one basket? I don’t know, but it must have seemed like a good idea way back when I decided on my goal. I was told even before I went to middle school that goal-making is important, short-term and long-term. Having goals is only a first step. Working toward a single goal for nine years has taught me that not only is it possible for me to fail, but it is possible for me to fail over and over again. It is possible for me to fail so much that I might lose my view of the goal and begin to settle for less and less and even stop dreaming of the greatness that seems more and more like a distant impossibility rather than a real goal.
I want to be a person now. Maybe I want to be a person more than I want to be a writer. Somehow people manage to do both, but how is a different story. And wow, I have made myself depressed.


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