An awkward moment
Residents of undeveloped nations would scoff at my personal journey. The fact that I am at such an odds with myself, that the focus of my life at this point is to regain a focus, is a metaphor of excess for the gluttony that has entangled the world’s perception of our “culture”. I ridicule myself for having such a paltry outlook. People are dying from disease, famine and violence and I am sitting here pretty in my upper middle class tax bracket with a loving wife, cute daughter, expensive PC’s (that’s right multiple computers), newish car, and job (yes I even have a job) that allows me flexibility in my personal endeavors (blogging, civic involvement, philanthropy). What the fuck do I have to complain about? I feel like such a pussy and a dick at the same time for even exercising my mental ineptitude as a real problem.
Whether you agree with my judgment of myself, or care to add to the findings, I could really give a flying you know what. My goal is focus and innovation. Without imagination, innovation is impossible. In order to find my wayward imagination, I must focus. Focus requires concentration. Hallways as noisy as my social media outlets diffuse focus.
Riding with my Dad the other day, on our way to get ashes I vocalized my issue with him. We had an awkward father/son moment where we weren’t sure how to deal with the emotions, and then after some added forced conversation I happened upon a possible obstacle that could be the first clue in locating my imagination.
Since the death of my mother I have found that the dynamic of my family has changed. Before you face palm and close the tab that you are viewing my stupid writing on, the statement deserves merit. You see with the death of my mother, I basically have become an orphan. My dad being a man from an all boy family and me being the oldest boy of yet another all boy family, emotional fortitude is not really our strongest characteristic. With that said, I always had two parents, but recently had one exit this dimension and move on to whatever lies on the other side. The other, my dad for those of you keeping score, is reeling from the sudden shock of a 35+ year mate vanishing. In his plight of a now upside down life, the role of a father has been displaced with the rest of his displaced existence.
As I sat and pondered the direction that this revelation had the potential to take me I listened to the message of the ashes, which was suffer silently. Great, so now that I have made the decision to go to social media rehab, which we will call my blog, I get an M. Night Shyamalan plot twist thrown at me. Here I think that I am having a complete epiphany, only to find that once again the location of my imagination has eluded me.
Suffer in silence for the world doesn’t hold the answer to your toils. Kind of makes my blog useless.
