Resistance, regret and ... YOLO!

My greatest fear is that I'll die some time in the near future. Not because I'm afraid of death; I'm not one of those. I know it's going to happen, and as far as I'm concerned, afterlife, smafterlife (again, sorry Mom). What terrifies me, though, is that I'll die before I get the opportunity to really do anything with my life.

Now, of course, I have (nearly) raised four beautiful, intelligent, amazing children. Obviously, to say this is an important accomplishment would be an understatement. But, really, that isn't what I'm talking about here.

I want to do something for myself. It sounds selfish, I know, but it isn't. Trust me, it's all about perspective. My 38-year-old perspective is vastly different, and continues to change from day to day. To start, I want to give my inner voice free rein and acknowledge all the things I never realized I'm feeling. I want to renew connections with lost friends, reminisce and revisit past discussions about being young, growing old, love and the meaning of life. I want to spend more time with my family. My children are nearly grown, nearly lost to me. There are many things I still want to do before that time comes. And I have extended family I haven't seen in years. I need their stories, too.

Of course, I want to write. I haven't been writing as of late, and no, this blog doesn't count. I want to write and self-publish my stories. I want to start and grow my own company. I want to travel with my loved ones and collect new experiences. These are things that are important to me. What I'm saying is that what is important to me is now important to me. For the first time in a very long time.

YOLO, then. I fucking hate that expression. It's annoying, and I feel most people use it as an excuse to act like idiots. But still.

Love this, though. Classic The Lonely Island.

YOLO

Since I'm saying all this, I better get my ass busy. Enough with the resistance.

J. L. Dodd

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." -Sydney J. Harris

"Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out". -Oliver Wendell Holmes

"Begin doing what you want to do now. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand, and melting like a snowflake." -Marie Ray

"Why be saddled with this thing called life expectancy? Of what relevance to an individual is such a statistic? Am I to concern myself with an allotment of days I never had and was never promised? Must I check off each day of my life as if I am subtracting from this imaginary hoard? No, on the contrary, I will add each day of my life to my treasure of days lived. And with each day, my treasure will grow, not diminish." -Robert Brault

Links:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/high-octane-women/201205/50-quotes-help-you-live-you-were-dying

Free Fall Focus

So, fuck this ineffective shit.

It's fall. Autumn. Whatever. The mornings are cool. The air is crispy. Halloween is coming. Dia de los Muertos is coming. Thanksgiving is coming. Screw Christmas, for now. This is my most favoritest time to fully engage my creativity. To read and write. To think. To reflect. To plan. I don't usually read poetry (maybe my next new hobby), but I'll make an exception for this season (see below).

First, I realized I cannot continue to divide my attention between books. I'm going back to the first book I started two months ago and finishing it. Today. Barring any sudden and sweeping inspiration, I'll focus on that. I don't like to feel divided. It makes me feel unproductive, and even though I'm undoubtedly moving forward intellectually and emotionally, when my focus is lost, it's more of a struggle.

Second, if I can't continue my revision, and by the painful, slow pace I'm keeping, it's becoming more and more apparent that I can't, I'll do what I did in the past: move on, at least for a time. Pick up where I left off in the next story. It also must come out, in time. And as long as I'm working, I feel at peace.

Another thing about fall, it's fruitcake season. I'm most certainly feeling fruitcakeish, especially today. Stripes, polka-dots, plaid, argyle. The sky's the limit. My scientific mind uses this phenomena as evidence that I'm in the right state of mind to create. My philosophical mind wonders WTF does this have to do with anything, but recognizes with this a priori, my consciousness has come full circle.

I'll hibernate in the safety and security of my home, drinking coffee long into the afternoon, cuddling with my dog, and allowing myself to become distracted by SNL, Fairy Tail, and The Somnambulist. This is how I work best. Why fuck with the process?

Apologies. Today's blog only makes sense to me. Apparently, I needed to talk to myself.

Don't knock on my door, people. I'm not home.

Jess

"October"
Robert Frost (from A Boy’s Will, 1915)

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.


"My November Guest"
Robert Frost (from A Boy’s Will, 1915)

My sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

Links:

http://poetry.about.com/od/ourpoemcollections/a/autumnpoems.htm

Arthur Schopenhauer and the Malignant, Metaphysical Will

Further research on Jung has lead me down a veritable rabbit hole (yes, friend, a rabbit hole) of philosophical and psychological thinkers of the past, from Schopenhauer to Einstein, to Hegel, Kant and Nietzsche, and all the way back to Plato. These are names I'm more or less familiar with, but here I'll focus on Schopenhauer.

I should preface this by saying I've only begun to delve into these matters, perhaps in response to my own, newly-christened search for individual truth.

German-born Arthur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860) was an olde-school "Debbie Downer." A more proper (but no less correct) description would be a philosophical pessimist. He believed that the phenomenal world (that which can be observed by humans) was the product of a "blind, insatiable, malignant, metaphysical will." For me, malignant is the word that stands out. Why? What tragedy happened in this dude's life to make him believe such a thing? But wait, there's more good news. From Wikipedia: "Human desire is futile, illogical, directionless, and by extension, so is all human action in the world." Not only does good 'ol Arthur consider his cup half empty, I'd wager whatever it's full of is something yucky.

He further built upon Hegel's Zeitgeist, the idea that society is directed by a collective consciousness. However, in Schopenhauer's version of the truth, this collective consciousness was controlled by the all-encompassing Will. But wait, seriously, there's more. The only way to overcome this evil is to embrace mankind's duties of asceticism and chastity. It's no wonder most of his influence and fame came posthumously.

Schopenhauer's idea of the Will is intriguing to me because I think it nonsense. That aside, I feel I have much to learn from him (despite his misogynistic views on women). To build upon his predecessors and further develop his own unique school of thought is no small accomplishment. As I continue to do with Jung, I will sift through Schopenhauer's work to find those bits and pieces that resonate with my thoughts and further me on my own path.

Always helpful, my husband readily supplied me with Schopenhauer: Essays and Aphorisms as soon as I mentioned his name, so add that to the growing list of books I'm reading. I really need to update my Goodreads profile, people.

If nothing else, think of the possibilities for literary inspiration. This insatiable, malignant Will has a very Lovecraftian appeal to it. Perhaps when I'm done reading (which will likely be never), I'll start writing about it.

I'm feeling decidedly more optimistic in October. Peace out.

J. L. Dodd

Links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Schopenhauer