Yesterday, I actually just forgot to blog. I was listening to tunes.
When I got involved with starting to blog I didn’t think about it very deeply. I did know that it might help me to find customers – the target reading audience willing to actually pay to read my professional creative writing, and to connect with people in more general and personal terms.
So far, after a year or so of blogging it hasn’t led to even a single sale as far as I can tell.
That might be because it appeals to all the other people hanging around without being able to spend and feeling they should not go out but still wanting to connect with others.
In reality, if Facebook had existed in 1988 I may well have not written a first novel while hanging out at home with my boyfriend even though he did not want to interact with me, but would have just Facebooked or used social media as a compromise of my wanting to socialize with others and wanting to keep him happy by not going out.
I liked being with him a lot. In the end – or from how it is now, we only spent a total of 5 years being strongly connected in a practical and directly experiential way with one another. We both remarried since then: he still is, and I have not even had a serious boyfriend since my 3rd divorce in 2005.
Unlike the romantic situation, there are books people can buy that are related to me. Some are ones that I ghostwrote or was part of a team of ghostwriters. Others I am actually the author of.
That’s because the Internet was not mainstream back then. We still listened to The Who even though we are really young compared to them.
Some folks find life to be deeply meaningful. Others do not. Many feel that there are periods during the life that are rich with meaning but that there are other times that seem devoid of much sense of purpose. There are times when it does not feel necessary to be purposive but an excess of shiftless being also grows drab, as many Occupy Protestors have found not only while at jobs but also during hanging out at the mass scale sit-in protests.
There are people who view art or religion or sex or having a large crop of children as being the solution to issues of meaning in life. Personally, I have found that all of the above [ I am the mother of only one person I have looked after some other peoples’ children sometimes] helps. All of the above have been very meaningful to me at times and have facilitated my happiness for a time. No one of them on their own seem to ‘do the trick’ to make me permanently happy and I hope that a lobotomy is not ‘the only way’. [That last one is supposed to only be a joke, not a reality].
A lot of it seems to be that we all benefit from routine and regularity to some degree – like so much in life: too much of it or not enough of it can lead to imbalances. Well, on the surface and in simplistic terms that makes me as much an Epicurean as a Christian – but from this point in time and space, one can be both. Epicurus – I was told in an undergraduate philosophy class, just reported that the key to success in life is ‘moderation’. ‘Moderation in all things’ he is reported to have said. Words of wisdom not to be scorned in any day or age.
The bottom line is that however meaningful or not our lives feel, all of our lives occur one day at a time. There are times when the only reason life seems less meaningful is that our real purpose is obscured the same way that things on the bottom of the pile of stuff on your desk may become obscured, but are still really there. Sometimes one forgets about them but other times it exerts a constant pressure to everything above it.