The Beginning of Act 3

The Gulf Stream by Winslow Homer
Read more about this painting here.

Today marks the fifth anniversary of this blog. At the time, the Covid pandemic was in its infancy. Too many people died. For those who survived, all were deeply scarred. Unfortunately, too many of them refuse to admit it. Five years later, and the disease's worst side effects have emerged full blown. Willful ignorance and irrational fear run rampant. Current leadership has proven incapable of resisting. Many of them are enabling it. We are in a crisis. However, humanity has faced terrible calamities and catastrophes before, some of them self-imposed, and survived. Therefore, I have hope...

In case you were not aware, two months ago, I took a “sabbatical”. I began it after my last post. In it, I asked a series of questions. You would think fifty-three days would be enough time to answer them. Alas, while I have changed a lot in the five years since starting this blog, some aspects have not changed, particularly a nasty habit that I have endured since elementary school. Self-doubt.

Five years ago, on this day, April 5th, at the beginning of a pandemic that would kill over a million people, and reveal just how far my country had succumbed to misinformation and propaganda, that was fueled by hate and fear, I began this blog. The goal was simple: find my way through life by writing, hopefully improving both along the way.

And did I ever! Blog, that is.

From the start, there was a drive, an urgency to post. Immediately, I went from posting once a week to twice: a main topic on Sunday, and a “Weekly Update” on Thursday. Soon, with the arrival of my region’s growing season, Wednesdays became windows into my gardening experiences. I was blogging, three times a week, and kept it up for some time.

Unfortunately, maintaining that level of enthusiasm and energy forever is not possible. With the arrival of autumn, my gardening exploits disappeared. That topic’s dormancy was natural. The Weekly Updates' posts continued until December. Their disappearance, however, was not inevitable. Fatigue, from a stressful situation at my daughters’ dance studio, drove me cut back on blogging. By the new year, I was back to publishing on Sundays only.

Yet, that was okay. The excitement of creating can carry you only so far. If you want to make it a habit, you need to work at it. Creativity requires self-discipline and skill to maintain. So, blogging weekly was a compromise I was willing to make, as long as I was pursuing other habits and goals.

 
Except, I never got around to writing that book I had always been thinking about. Or, taking what little drawing I had learned, and expanding it, so I could make decent sketches of my ideas, and produce a graphic novel. The only major woodworking project I completed, was the fencing around my garden. Well, I did attempt two NaNoWriMo events, producing about 50,000 and 35,000 words each time. And there has always been the journaling. Yet, neither were enough. 

To make matters worse, over the past year, my blogging declined. In early February of 2024, for the second time, I went to Disney World to watch my eldest daughter dance. Unlike the first year, this time I struggled. People like to choose the worst times to reveal their true selves. It hurt deeply. One of the results? Three full months without a blog post. Finally, in June, I returned. But I was never the same.

 
The rest of 2024 saw gaps: one or two posts a month. The election did not help. There was so much to be said. So many topics to discuss. A multitude of thoughts to share. Yet, I resisted. Fear held me in check. It is not easy to put yourself out there when the world is full of hate, and those same people do not know how to listen. Especially if you lack the confidence and skill to defend your words.

In addition, I did not want be just another voice ranting and raging across the internet. That is not me, even when I am angry. Sure, from time to time, I lash out, but I immediately regret it. Whatever satisfaction I may have felt in the moment, quickly transitions to shame and self-doubt. Also, it does not work, if the goal is to change minds. 

But, is that what we need to be doing now? Or, are we beyond that point? How do you confront willful ignorance, hatred, and fear? Harshly? Kindly? Not at all? Where should one’s energy be focused? History does not provide clear answers--even so-called tipping points prove debatable. After all, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Those questions, coupled with my fear and lack of confidence, have bound me to inaction and silence.

 
Silence, however, is no longer an option. 

Yet, what do I say?

And that is when I hear the voice of a dog tell his best friend, who is struggling to be a hero, that “sucking at something is the first step to being sort of good at it.”

For the moment, I need to embrace the messy and the scary, and just blog my thoughts and discoveries. Will it make a difference? To me? Yes. To others? Perhaps. Some of my most profound moments of intellectual growth came from random blogs written by average people bravely sharing their insights and reflections. Maybe my words will inspire others, too. I will not know until I try.

At least I will get better at this thing called writing. 

The noon sun is moving on, but dusk is still far off. However, dark clouds begin to stretch out from the horizon, casting shadows on the path before me. Will its passage be brief, or last on through the night? I do not know. Yet, I cannot turn back, for the winding road behind me is now impassable. So, I place my burden upon my back, take my walking stick in hand, and step upon the unknown trail before me. It is time that I continue on my journey...