How's it going?

Last night, Cyndi asked me how the blog project was going. With this post, I have been blogging daily for the past 280 days. And while, at times, I may veer away from the original intent of the project, I believe I am a better person because of it. I've opened my life to people who choose to read my words. I've taken the time to consider my life over the past 39+ years; contemplating memories I have written about previously, or things that have sparked something new. I've even got a larger following than I thought I'd have (thanks, everyone!).

I'd be lying, though, if I didn't admit that I'm ready for a break. Why? To be quite honest, I'm sick of me. If I'm sick of me, I can't imagine how many other people might be sick of me too. It seems like sometimes the blog can be less of an introspective journey, and more of a daily diary. Maybe that's my own fault. When I sit down to write, I look at things that happened throughout the day that inspire a telling (retelling) of a memory. Sometimes, life isn't that simple (or interesting), and nothing inspirational comes. Plan B is to find something throughout my day that allows me to wax poetic (or in my case "wax nonfiction"). Maybe the days I can't find anything from my past means I am just lazy or having a lazy day. I know I haven't shared everything I can from my past; not that I need or want to. Sometimes it's just the path of least resistance: think for a few moments, come up with an idea on the fly, and just run with it no matter what the direction, motivation, or purpose.

I'm not going to give up. I've done that in the past. A few years ago, when I was 34, I vowed to be a vegetarian for a year. Cyndi was a vegetarian for seven years before we met. I figured, one year...piece of cake. Not so easy. I made it 100 days before Cyndi put a piece of chicken in front of me and said, "eat this." She sense my frustration. She and I both knew the motivation wasn't really there. I didn't have a social need not to eat meat. I didn't have a medical reason not to do it either. I just felt like I wanted to challenge myself for a year (before I turned 35). Plus, it was a pain in the ass to find protein. I'm not stupid enough to know that there are ways to find it; people are and have been vegetarians forever. I just was grew tired of the processed soy alternatives, and didn't have the patience of talent to learn how to create/cook otherwise.

This project/challenge/desire is different. I love to write. Hell, I spent four years at Loyola University, changing my major a zillion times, and came out with a degree in creative writing (fiction). And if that wasn't silly enough, I spent another three years, albeit 15 years later, getting my graduate degree in creative writing (nonfiction) from Northwestern. And I sell software for a living!

Writing is something I feel like I have to do. Whether I'm good or bad. Whether I'm talented or not. Whether people read my words, or choose to ignore them. Whether I become famous or not. Whether my screenplay ever gets produced, or if I publish a book, or if I get an essay picked up by a literary magazine or not.

So, bear with me for another 85 days. There might be a payoff in the end...for someone, I hope.