Cogito ergo blogum

Last week about this time, I started a blog entry. I didn’t know where it was going, I couldn’t figure out what I was trying to say, and then I put the computer away to be distracted by something I could figure out. Crossword puzzle, anyone?

Now, here I am again.

Earlier this month, my sister and I assessed the state of our blog. I was concerned that I haven’t said anything new. I voiced my fear that I’m not interesting, that I’m stuck in the past, that my entries are not contributing adequately to the Blog World. And then in my paranoid tantrum, I screeched, “I don’t even remember why we’re doing this!”

Perhaps your next entry should start there, my sister suggested calmly. It wasn’t true. I did remember the impetus for the blog, but I am quite good at being dramatic and my outburst seemed to fit the moment.

This whole blog business began with a desire to explore the question “how did we get here?” The fact is I am daunted by the notion that we all end up where we are simply by taking one step in front of the other. There are decisions we make in our lives that we know are life-changers. Choosing my college, for instance. I knew that was a defining moment. I can’t help but wonder on occasion how different my life would be today if I hadn’t gone to the Midwestern university that prompted my move to Chicago after graduation, thereby determining my first major relationship, career path, friends, and so on.

When I think about how choosing one thing over the next, all the time, every day, has led me to where I am this very minute, I feel like rewinding my life and playing it back in slow motion just to see where I might have done something differently. Sometimes I wish there was a little flag next to what seems like a small decision, alerting me. “Pay attention to this one. This one’s going to matter.”

I’m not speaking about regret. I don't dwell on mistakes I have made. It’s more that I’m thinking of the wanna-be writer who makes a point to get up at 5 a.m. so he can spend an hour working on his novel before he leaves for his day job. I think about the woman practicing Tai Chi at 6 a.m. every morning outside my window. She reminds me that I, too, could get up before work and do something that matters to me. And then I consider how much earlier I would have to get up. Then I think about how much earlier I would have to go to bed, and conclude it’s just not realistic for my lifestyle. In a matter of seconds, I have dismissed a potentially desirable pursuit. See? A Choice.

I go through phases when I fixate on the possibility that one might miss their true calling. Consider the fate of the world-renowned concert pianist had they not had a piano to plunk away at when they were a toddler, garnering the attention of over-attentive parents. Would they instead have never known that they had it in them to be a concert pianist? Or would fate have intervened and thrown a piano in their path?

Never mind the pianist. What about me? Do I have a true calling, and if so, am I ever going to know what it is? Or worse: what if I don’t have a calling?! What if my uninspired means of employment is just going to have to suffice, because maybe there isn’t something better for me out there?!?

And now I spin into my Woody Allen in Therapy mode, which is clearly a bad headspace to be in.

I digress.

Let’s get back to the beginning of this entry. It seems I am not without things to say, nor am I done exploring my initial query. I definitely haven’t figured it out yet.

And so, I blog.