2003-03-02 - 3:41 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: Can't hear it.

So, the other day I was thinking about some of the people whose journals or blogs I read -- people like, say Kevin. I admire Kevin for his incredible wealth of knowledge in foreign affairs, politics, and philosophy, and have been motivated by him and his genuine interest in those subjects and in discussing them to learn more about those three topics than I otherwise ever would have. And once in a while I feel like I am a lazy sloth and I really ought to try to learn more, or try to write more thoughtful pieces in my journal.

Then I thought, well, to hell with that. Whether I like it or not, I am not a writer. My brother could always sit down and crank out an "A" paper in about an hour, where I'd struggle for five hours to come up with a B. And most of the struggling was just trying to come up with the words to describe what I meant. It's HARD. It's hard for me to explain what I mean unless it's a topic I've spent a lot of time thinking about, and the fact is, I spend most of my time thinking about interpersonal relationships, not foreign affairs.

Now, sometimes I feel guilty about this. It seems to me that it ought to be important to stretch my mind, and to force myself to work on things I'm not good at, so as to get better at them. I'm thinking more now about the writing part, right now -- I actually do have enough interest in foreign affairs and philosophy to try to work at those, even though I know it's going to mean reading every paragraph eleventy times and still needing someone else to explain it to me.

But on the other hand, why make myself miserable? Some people get a lot of satisfaction out of completing a difficult task, but I don't seem to be one of those people. I'm utterly miserable while doing it, and then I am relieved that it's over, but I still wish I had never had to do it and I'm rarely satisfied with the result. When I write about something I know a lot about -- like my own life or my thoughts on relationships -- the words flow very easily. When I try to write about something I can't express well, even though I really really want to express it, it's just torture. And then I think, "Why did I just waste three hours writing something I'm not even happy with, and I don't feel good for having done it?"

And then on the topic of topics, is it really so awful that I'm not well-versed in what are considered "scholarly" topics? Is it so bad that I just want to bring up common everyday topics and hear what people think about them? It doesn't serve any higher purpose in terms of making the world a better place. But on the other hand, social interaction and finding things in common with other people, however trivial, is very rewarding to me. I am happy talking to the guy at the corner store, for pete's sake. Maybe gossip and "idle chatter" is underrated, or unfairly scorned. Certainly they do serve a purpose in bringing people together and creating harmony in human relationships. When I talk about fluffy stuff, I can even get along with people whose political views are diametrically opposed to my own. Lighthearted everyday stuff is what MOST PEOPLE have in common, and it even transcends race, sexual orientation, political orientation, and culture. If you use toilet paper, you've probably got an opinion on whether it should go over or under. Lord knows we could use more reminders of the things we have in common. And it's not like I'm hurting anyone with it.

Plus, I do know more than the average person about linguistics and mathematics, but I'm just not inclined to write about it very often. Even though I do get ridiculously excited when I actually have an opportunity to use, on my job, the stuff I learned in college about permutations.

I am also thinking about the idea of talent, or potential, and whether we're required to do anything with it. I've been told -- and I really don't know if it's true or not, but let's assume it is -- that I have a decent talent for playing the piano. I'm not talking about Alicia de Larrocha kind of talent, but enough that I probably could have played professionally in some capacity if I had the drive.

But there's the thing -- I don't have the drive. Not at all.

Is a person really denying their potential if they don't have the drive? Isn't the drive just as critical as the talent, if not more so? (I mean, Madonna didn't get where she is today because she is the most talented singer in the world -- it was her business sense and her drive.) If I have no drive to be a pianist, if it doesn't have enough value to me, does it matter? Isn't it enough for me to just enjoy playing the piano for myself at home, and occasionally trying to learn a Bach Prelude and Fugue just because I like it, and not because it's the most challenging one or the one that will teach me something I "ought" to learn?

I guess I get tied up a lot in what I "ought" to be doing versus what I really want to do. I have to learn to ignore the "oughts" better, because all that does is make me miserable. I need to know what I want to do, and what is best for me, and do that. Fortunately, I am usually good at that.

The one thing I am disappointed in myself about sometimes is when I *do* want something, but sheer laziness or inertia keeps me from doing it. That is bad. To pick a really, really superficial example: I get a certain amount of pleasure out of looking nice. By this I mean fussing with my hair, wearing nice clothes, a little makeup. It makes ME happy. But -- and admittedly, this is partly due to the fact that it's winter and I must wear baggy pants and sweaters that have room for longjohns underneath rather than my cute little outfits -- most of the time I am too lazy to take the 10 minutes to fool with my hair, or to remember to clean my contacts so I can wear them. Another few examples are when I'm not productive at work during non-crisis times (a form of procrastination, really), or when I don't keep the house clutter-free. I just feel yucky, but I'm too lazy to fix it! I hate it when I do that! Why is it so hard to motivate myself to do something that I know will make me happier?! This is something that makes me nuts in other people -- repeatedly making choices that they know will have a bad outcome -- so why am *I* doing it? Why is it human nature to do this? ARGH.

Anyway.

In order to keep myself from being miserable at trying to explain myself, and so as not to waste three hours of my life, I will not be editing that last segment there.

I did manage to motivate myself a little bit today to clean the house. I feel really good about that. It's pretty.

Poindexter blames the lack of motivation on the winter. It's too hard to give a shit about anything when we're cold all the time. Maybe he's right. I'll see how I'm doing in a month or so.

OK, now I'll begin a short series of cactus photos from last January in Arizona. I love me some cactuses. Here is a seguaro/saguaro cactus and some cute short round cactuses!

previous index next