Tonight I sit to write in the midst of a slump, admittedly. I've shirked my daily "freewriting" duty after laying an ultimatum of sorts in my other blog, and I'll continue to shirk it in favor of writing this post. It's snowing outside, and I just went out for a walk. The beauty of the winter's first proper snow is merciless. I walked down the unplowed streets in the bitter cold. One might take many walks in his life, but few are as eventful as those in a blizzard. I encountered many facets of life in my short walk. There was a man plowing the parking lot of the office supply store at one AM, which reminded me of the efficiencies of government in contrast to the snow-laden city streets. I trotted across O Street to help shove a compact car over the drift in which it was interred, as its teenage driver spun his tires to little effect. Then I walked back in the direction of my house as the wind stabbed at my face, armed with flakes and devastating cold. I cleared my car of snow in preparation for tomorrow's work day and cursed at the pain of my frozen fingers as I fought to brush everything away.
But the obvious conflict and struggle of the cold wasn't the rub for me. The first thing that hit me after I kicked off my snowy shoes and returned my coat to the hanger was the thaw. My fingers screamed in ache as the blood was finally allowed passage. I had to lie down to avoid the queasiness caused by the sheer pain of it and I knew that when they were warm that I must write.
All my life I've expected complex problems in the context of a simple life, and I've been frustrated at every turn as I encountered the exact opposite. The problems I deal with are boringly simple. They aren't even taxing, physically, emotionally, or intellectually. In comparison, the bigger picture becomes exceedingly complex. I'm a man concerned with making some difference on a macro level, and I don't have a grasp on the simplest macro endeavors that are generally accepted as staples of American life. I'm not well-read or well-dressed. I have made virtually no progress in regards to a lasting romantic relationship in the whole of my life. A bachelor's degree, which maintains essentially the equivalency of an early 1900's high school diploma, took me six hard-fought, harrowing years to accomplish. All these years I've prided myself in attaining for a unique standard, and I'm now more convinced than ever that I'm not living up to it.
In my musing I'm brought back to the thaw. The freeze is a soft prick in comparison to the thaw. There was a quotation at work yesterday that good habits are as easy to form as bad habits. I agree with this entirely, if the starting point is neutral. However, breaking bad habits is more than just forming good ones. Breaking bad habits is brutal and disappointing. It hurts to the center of your knuckles and makes you want to vomit. Second-guessing is not allowed. The mirage of reason leads to complacency. I can't handle it. I'm not strong enough to tackle reason and thawing simultaneously. I feel simultaneously over- and underwhelmed. I'm impotent.
I'll be damned if I'm going to give up on this struggle for whatever success I'm after, but damnation seems like a viable option to me right now. Not two months ago, I went to one of my favorite spots on the planet, a valley on the Platte River, with a friend of mine and explained to him that I was dreading something terrible. I didn't know then what I expected, nor do I now, but I felt it. We had an intimate and encouraging talk, and I was pacified by my bolstered resolution to pour my efforts into my writing. I thought that, regardless of the resistance I encountered, some specificity would do me good. Now I look back and realize it may be that it's only for the progress that I'm susceptible to the stumbling, and the anxiety returns. I read what I've written in dismay. I can see no progress, and I wonder where I'll find sufficient gumption to continue before I cower in the insipid motionlessness I'm used to. I try to use an arsenal of vocabulary words to craft some grandiose thought, but I read back what I've written and I don't even want to post it to a blog that no one reads, in the off chance that they might. Things will get worse before they get better. At least, I hope so. I desperately need to thaw.
