perils with writing and whatnot
Today is a holiday here in the US, Independence Day. In 1776, we declared our unconditional separation from England. We usually celebrate this independence with barbeques, picnics, lots of beer, and, of course, the fireworks once the sun goes down. This year, in the Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee, the rain may put a damper on all of this fun. There’s still a little time, a few hours, to see if we can proceed as normal.
If you’ve read this somewhere else in my blog, sorry for the repeat.
On July 4, 1972, I was seventeen years old. It had been slightly over a month since I graduated from high school. (Long, long ago and far away) I was looking forward to going to college in a couple of months. The day was cloudy and the powers that be were threatening rain, again.
I was conned into going to a county fair with my parents and little brother. By the time we got there, I had a headache, not a bad one though — it was just one of those annoying ones jabbing me on both sides above the temples.
When we got home, I took two Anacin and leaned my head back on the sofa. It seemed to do the trick.
When Robin called, wanting to take me to a movie, I said yes. We had been dating for several months but because of the way I felt about another young man, I wanted to break it off with Robin. Guys had always broken up with me in the past, and because of being a realist, I always took it in stride. Still, I want to be as gentle as I could with Robin. He was a wonderful loving young man. Because he was taking me to a drive-in, we would definitely have the privacy that would make this announcement easier.
I was able to do this awful thing to Robin without tearing him up. In fact, he had met a woman he wanted to date but didn’t know if he should tell me or not. One-third through Downhill Racer, our relationship had gone from boyfriend and girlfriend to instant best friends.
Robin went to the concession stand and bought a couple of sodas for us. We sat back and watched the movie.
About three-fourths of the way through the movie, my headache came back, full strength this time. It was so bad I blacked out right there in the passenger’s seat of Robin’s Challenger.
I had a stroke. I because dependent on Independence Day.
I’m on the email list for David Steven’s newsletter that comes floating in once a month. David is a Life Counselor, with his specialty is helping people forty years of age or over to lead more fulfilling lives. I haven’t had the need for his individual counseling; I hope I never do. All the same, his newsletters are thought-provoking, which, I believe, is exactly what David wants as a reaction from the reading.
The newsletter I got from him yesterday was entitled Some Day. In his dialogue, he talked about setting high standards and adhering to them. He stated that life is too short to be dilly dallying around. If we don’t start living to our potential today, you may not have the chance tomorrow.
It got me thinking about those phrases in which the term some day is used.
Do people really take the phrase, I’ll do it some day, or maybe some day I’ll get to it, seriously? I remember being given that line as a kid from both of my parents at various times. When I’d heard it, I just knew that whatever it was, was not going to happen, period. It was a satirical statement to push me into the realm of reality.
Is it that I live life more deliberately than most? Do I do this naturally; you know, born this way? This could be. After all, I know that reaching for the impossible is a waste of time. I think I’ve always known this instinctively. Yet, at the same time, I believe I’ve pushed myself to go beyond what I’ve been told to be the limit, if for no other reason than just to see if I can do it. Because of this, I do have a tendency to drive people crazy at times with questions they’re sure I got from outer space.
Are there people who think there’s a ‘some day’ like in the song from the movie, West Side Story? Yes, I know there are such people.
I know people who would greatly benefit from David’s counseling, but they’re also the same people who will never listen to him either. They’re convinced, probably by themselves, that what is holding them back is something out of their control. They believe that it isn’t their fault (if that’s the right term to use), or it isn’t their responsibility to get themselves out of whatever rut they’re in.
The common excuses:
Have these people lived their entire life believing these excuses are valid? David, if you’re reading this, what is the percentage on this?
If any of you know of any articles or blog posts that hit on character development and/or descriptive narrative, please point me to them.
What does this next week look like for you?
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