Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
How’s work? Let me tell you about work.
A typical doctor-patient interaction.
More later, after I pick up the pieces and sew shit up.
***
Okay, I’m back. A little bloody around the clavicles, I can’t find most of my left ear, and it’s a good thing I got that buzz-cut last week because blood in longish hair? Oy. You don’t want to know. Hydrogen peroxide doesn’t even to begin to cut it.
I’m thinking this mood has little to do with patients and everything to do with life in general. Now, if I gave you the nitty gritty details of my life, 49/50 of you would pull out the violin and say (as we did in school), “Ooooooh, poor baaaybeee!” I have a nice house, stable self-employed job, good health, and no major money problems.
But lately I’m feeling like a walking video of Remain in Light. Remember Remain in Light?
So maybe it’s a Houses in Motion kinda feeling . . .
I’m walking a line – I hate to be dreaming in motion
I’m walking a line – just barely enough to be living
Or maybe a Once in a Lifetime kinda feeling . . .
And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful
Wife
And you may ask yourself-well…how did I get here?
I’ve never approved of folks who dodge responsibility for their lives. And yet, I can’t help but feel a little bewildered at my place in the world. One thing followed another with seeming inevitability. You chose A instead of B, C, or D because A was clearly the right thing to do. You would choose A again, given the opportunity. And yet, here you are.
And this goes all the way back to high school.
I think the solution to the puzzle is that I limited my choices from the beginning, putting myself in a position where there really was only one correct choice. We create our choices, those of us who can.
When I was in junior high, I aced some sort of State-mandated aptitude test. My counsellor told my parents, “He can be anything he wants to be.” How lucky I was to have someone there in my life, at that young age, telling me that. How unfortunate that I didn’t believe him.
None of this is new; I’ve been out of sorts for several years now. In 2001, nearing my 40th birthday, I decided to create a new choice and reinvent myself as a writer (and, hopefully someday, author). But as y’all know, it’s a long haul between making that choice and quitting the day job. I suspect many authors never have the ability to quit their day jobs.
I’m hoping it’s not too late to try.
D.
Wow. Michael Ironside with hair…
O. M. G.
I LOVED Scanners! Was an awesome film – least I thought so when I was a teenager. Heads blowing up, nose bleeds… fried brains. What’s not to love? Thanks for the grand memories!
As for the other, have a {{huggg}}. I understand and, in a lot of ways, I’m in the same place. I feel like a whiney butt when I bawl about the messed up bits of my life, but there are some things that upset me greatly and I struggle with them pretty much daily (cue finger-sized violin music – wah, wah wah, Tam! Give it a rest already!) But, you know, no one’s life is perfect. I think restlessness and a desire to reinvent yourself is very common in intelligent, creative people. A plague, maybe a curse even. But it’s also what gives us the fortitude and ability to create. This writing gig isn’t for the lazy or fearful, and it’s a lot harder than it looks.
That said, the pay pretty much sucks unless you’re a lottery winning Stephen King or Nora Roberts. Most authors who’ve quit the day job crank out several books a year. They also, usually, have a financially supporting spouse or scrape the poverty line. Are you willing to do that? Is your family? What if the books tank, do you have a safety net?
But there’s more to this than money, a lot more. Only you know for sure.
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? …am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!…what have I done?
I ask myself that a lot. Am I right? Am I wrong? My god, what have I done?
A lot.
Wise song. 🙂
Spouse able to support me? No. Family willing to scrape poverty line? I dunno, let me ask.
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Gee, I didn’t realize “no” could be pronounced with 9 syllables 😉
“It is never too late to be what you might have been.” -George Eliot. Smart gal, that George.
FACT! David Byrne, of Talking Heads fame, originally comes from just down the road from me.
FACT! I have a distressing habit of identifying myself by my relationship to famous people.
FACT! I wish you good luck with the writing. I also feel like I’ve been living in a fugue state for a few years now and that writing might be a possible release. Just a shame I can’t write for shit.
Back to the day job, I suppose….
It’s never too late. If it’s too late for you, then it’s too late for me. And I refuse to accept that.
Doug, I’m adding my encouragement by repeating the others here — it’s NEVER too late to try something new, or to reinvent yourself. I’m proof of that, myself — up and changing careers in my thirties. I’m constantly thinking of new things to try — I’ve started my list of options for the fall, and item number one is taking watercolor painting lessons.
Life is a constant state of growth…to attempt to avoid it, or refuse is cause for stagnation. And like Nienke, I won’t accept that. ‘Cause, frankly, that would suck. And not in an enjoyable way.
Thanks, folks. I had a better night’s sleep last night, so everything looks rosier today. You know how it is. Now if only I could get my surgical cases going — they’re already 15 minutes late.
Early on, I heard that this gig (writing for fun — and profit!) was a ten-year plan. I’m halfway into that and I have some halfway decent work to show for it. I’m impatient, that’s all, but I’m working on it. I don’t pass nearly as many cars on the highway as I used to 😉
Doug, sounds like you really need that vacation.
***smooches***
You’re a smart guy, and a good writer. I trust you’ll work it out.
It sounds like you have the blahs. Now if it was the middle of winter ok, but it is beautiful outside.
I found this on Brenda Coopers’ blog
“A spiritual teacher once told me the cure for depression and “poor me” syndrome was to go do something for someone else. Wouldn’t it be nice to turn all the fear and energy going into actually wishing for disaster into helpful vounteerism?”
Hope you find your passion or at least some joy.
Doug, I’m in sort of the same boat, except people whine to me about deadlocks and blocks rather than viruses.
I decided that I would be a writer a couple of years ago. From everything I’ve seen, those who make this decision had best plan for a long haul. It isn’t a quick process unless you’re young and pretty and write frankly about your sordid sex life, in which case you’ll probably have people offering you book deals by the fistful.
I figure that if you enjoy the journey, it doesn’t really matter how long it takes to become a ‘real’ writer.
Those of us who are already scraping the poverty line to write have those blah days too. Poverty or no, it’s not like riding a bike. It doesn’t get easier.
But here’s the thing about writing: I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop.
Somedays it really flows, which makes it worth it. There’s a part of me that feels like Col. Kilgore in Apocalypse Now! when he says wistfully, regretfully, “Someday this war’s gonna end.”
Someday this dissertation’s gonna end….
It isn’t a quick process unless you’re young and pretty and write frankly about your sordid sex life, in which case you’ll probably have people offering you book deals by the fistful.
Damn, Dean! You mean that’s the way we’re supposed to do it?? Crap. I must have missed that memo…
😀
Er, I hate to tell you this, Doug, but you are already a published writer. This is it. Balls and Walnuts is a great blog. A. Great. Blog. You may never make a dime off of it but many on paper writers never make a dime off their writing either. Day job. feh. You need to feed the family.
Does this mean if I start having a sordid sex life I’ll be on the fast track towards publication?
(Can you tell I’m feeling better now?)