Where’s all the adventure on this blog? Is this going to be it—Hamlet quotes, yard animals, and the occasional mini-essay about weird conversations?
Don’t be fooled. Adventure is afoot.
I’m a father, husband, and necktie-wearing writer. Sounds boring. Looks boring.
I’m not the type who dyes his hair blue, dashes off to New Zealand, and stages nude performances with fire and ukuleles. Such moves come naturally to some people, but they would be inauthentic coming from me, and no one likes or trusts inauthenticity.
(Now and then, I meet a blue-hair fire type who’s trying too hard and seems a little panicked on the inside, because they’re desperate to be an exciting individual and worry they’re not doing it right. I always want to hug them and say, “It’s OK to have brown hair. People will still love you.”)
I wear neckties because I like them. I love writing. I adore my family and house. And so from the outside, I appear to be a conservatively dressed homebody who sits a lot and has zero adventures.
Adventure: Obsessing for years over a single story, exposing the finished book to the public, wiping the blood out of my eyes, and doing it again. This is the emotional equivalent of feeding myself into a laundry mangler every morning.
Adventure: Co-creating a marriage that’s fresher, racier, and more enlivening after twenty years of being together.
Adventure: Fathering a son toward happy, guitar-slinging, non-assholish 21st-century manhood.
Adventure: Waking up without automatic joy and serendipity, and then finding it, swashbuckler-style, and sharing it with people I know, or strangers like you, instead of coiling into a miserable little pillbug of self-pity.
Adventure: Anything life or death. This includes the tiniest, least-noticeable sparks and epiphanies. Is it obnoxious to suggest the right song can save your life? Or a single kiss? How about a kiss with a little tongue in it?
Depression and death aren’t always active forces. Sometimes they’re merely the lack of sparks–the voids, the lulls–and the effort to generate sparks is the entire work of living. That’s often tough to do. Believe me, I know.
This blog exists because, most days, the voids and lulls threaten to depress me, and whenever that happens now, I’ll say to myself, “Do something. Find something. Any spark is better than this dark, emotional heat-death.”
But yeah, sometimes I’ll have flashier adventures, too. Maybe I’ll travel to the Island of the Women this year. Maybe I’ll go crazy for an odd new endeavor, as in the summer I grew a 314-lbs. pumpkin in the yard. Some catastrophe or tragedy may, God forbid, force me into unqualified ADVENTURE.
In the meantime… Hamlet quotes, yard animals, and mini-essays about weird conversations?
[Image source: Pulp Covers]