Barnes and Noble, Georgetown, DC.

I think something needs to be said about memory. I should say, as it relates to the present, or perhaps to writing.

It’s been remarked upon that I have a rather keen skill for remembering other people’s stories. Especially in relationships—I come off as a wonderful listener. Names I’m not always great with, nor can I always pin down the where and whens of things, but the narrative thrust of other people’s lives… I can be reliably counted on to maintain these things. As for my own life… I have a really hard time with this. Things come back blurry, like abandoned polaroid pictures or those water damaged books at the bottom of the boxes at every garage sale. As a writer this can be difficult… the notion that I have this whirlwind of other people’s stories in my mind and a severe absence of my own makes it difficult to truly fathom what I have to say… or even remember what inspire me to speak in the first place.

My first actual memory from my childhood (I say actual to separate it from memories that have been implanted in me through over-told stories and family photo albums) was from when I was maybe four years old. I don’t know exactly… but I remember, and I don’t know if this is strange or not, that I knew then that this would be my first memory. I was in a park in Skokie, IL with my Grandfather. There was someone else there, maybe another young boy, a cousin perhaps, and we were going to play on the swings. This was the day when I learned how to use the swings by myself. This was a pretty big deal for a kid… one of those milestones people talk about, I guess… but then things get blurry again.

I hear people tell stories of their first memories, and they always seem much more vivid, much more interesting… but perhaps that’s grass being greener and not the truth.

To be fair, I’ve always sort of thought my own truth wasn’t enough for my life. I told plenty a tall tale (to put it nicely) in my life, especially through grade school. At some point, I was saying that the Power Rangers were my neighbors and that my uncle was Michael Jordan (not understanding the subtler points of genetics and race, I guess). I grew up with hand-me-down clothes and hand-me-down toys, so it’s not surprising that I would embrace the notion of a hand-me-down life.

I think the fact is that the life I’ve lived and the life I’ve told are too deeply entwined to be easily untangled. Finding memories of my own feels more like panning for gold than sculpting from marble. Yet, I know that I want to find them. I want to remember as much as I can of my past, because without my past, without understanding where I came from, it will be too overwhelming to understand how I came to be the person I am today, and, I think, without knowing one’s own composition, it’s devastatingly difficult to imagine vivid and complete characters for a fictional world.

I wonder if I’m alone in this… I think that’s the biggest question of all, the reason why people surround themselves with other people, why we read and listen to stories, to find, hopefully, that we’re not alone in what we feel, how we think, the way we see this vast world of ours.

So, I guess I’m learning. Like my four-year-old self on the swings with my grandfather at my back, I’m putting my legs in front of me and kicking at the wind, hoping beyond hope that, someday soon, the proverbial gears will spring to life and from them, a new world will emerge.

That’s All For Now.

-e.-

Baked And Wired, Georgetown, D.C.

I sit here hoping that today, or maybe tomorrow, marks my return to the written word. I’ve been thinking, in recent months, about the road ahead. Being somewhere unexpected, how my life put me in Washington, DC, has made me think about the funny turns fate can take. The city is growing on me… slowly, not like a mold, more like a friend… certainly good people and fun hangouts make that easier. I wonder if we’re all just the right person away from being home again.

I’ve recently had a new person come into my life, the sort of unexpected wonderful that you only find when, frustratingly enough, you stop looking. I don’t know what the road ahead will mean with her, certainly not trying to think that far. For now, it’s all a lovely vacation for the both of us.

In terms of my writing (if this blog is any indication) I’ve been embarrassingly dry. I have written a couple new songs in the last month, which could be a good sign, but both came from a ‘nothing better to do’ sort of mindset, and if I want to actually make my dream of being a professional writer/playwright a reality, I’ll need to start making writing the better thing to do. Remind myself why I love it. Having people around to keep me accountable is helpful, and I’ll rely on them a bit in the months to come.

I have two scripts that have been coming down the pike, and I am far too judgmental of both of them at present… I’ll need to finish them despite their flaws and then start performing the medieval surgery that is the editing process. I will do my best to check in with this blog as a way of loosening my creative muscles, clearing the passageways so that fresh ideas and words can emerge and enliven my work.

The funniest thing about this, and it’s something that I was told by a friend and coworker at a recent holiday party, is that the biggest problem I’m facing right now is how much I enjoy my job. But… isn’t that what we all dream of? Isn’t that what we’re all striving for—a job that pays us well, that we enjoy doing on a daily basis, which is a reason to wake up in the morning and a welcome fatigue at the end of the day? It would seem, however, that for those of us on the creative end of the spectrum, the struggle against a dead-end job, a meaningless 9 to 5 could be the necessary void that compels us to create.

I have a fairly singular struggle at the moment, not in my love-life or social life, nor in my professional life (I suppose in my current profession… I struggle with the prospects of my future in my chosen profession)… but no, my current struggle concerns my finances. I have to change my juvenile habits, living check to check, and start paying off debt. I don’t know how to do this in a steady way. I have grown up when it comes to dressing myself, working 5 days a week, being responsible with harmful substances, discussing global politics (though I wonder if this is truly a requirement of adulthood anymore) but I’ve yet to mature in my financial life. I hope/need to quickly learn how to responsibly pay off loans and bills, debt and daily doings without overwhelming my bank account. What an exciting prospect. Ugggh.

I hope I will return to this blog more often in the new year, but I can’t promise anything.

That’s All For Now.

-e.-