This post should be taken for what it was in-the-moment (July 2020), as I have come to feel that I can write again, comfortably, though perhaps in a slightly different direction. Nothing lasts forever, not even finality.
As much as it pains me to do so, and it does pain me, it’s time for me to come face to face with reality; I no longer have the gumption, the inspiration, nor the willingness to write. Not essays, and not any forthcoming book. I am done. Allow me to take a few moments here to say my good-byes to the craft, then, and to you, gentle reader, you who shall (in my not-so-humble opinion) suffer the most by my not writing, and further, by you not reading. But, then, the latter has been the case for quite some time, now, hasn’t it?
A Short History
I have been blogging, and indeed writing in one form or another, since the early 2000s. Back then I was a newbie, unschooled in how to write properly, a neophyte in the ways of grammar and structure, unaccustomed to applying thought to the page in any but the shortest missives. My writing then was largely expository, infrequent explorations into who I was and where I was going in my life. As I did so, I gained insight into who I was and what I wanted to be, and in doing so began to examine new directions for my writing.
But that was twenty years ago. I lacked an important element; schooling. I was not, at that time, a “reader”; I knew nothing of history, politics, or philosophy. And so I stumbled my way through my attempts at writing, doing only enough “research” to support my blogging. However bumbling and ill-informed those writings were, there rested within them the kindling for a spark of education; I discovered I had a yearning for philosophy, once which had presented itself many times before but that I didn’t recognize for what it was.
So, some five years ago, I decided to make something of myself and go to college. My math assessment was anything but surprising; remedial, in fact, and it took a lot of effort (and more than two tries) to get through college-level algebra. In all other fields, however, I did better than expected and was allowed to begin regular classes in all other subjects. I was not prepared for college-level work, however; there were days when I found myself crying in corners, alone and overwhelmed, because of the amount of work I had to do to attain good grades. But good grades I did attain, and after my first two semesters maintaining a 4.0 GPA, I was admitted into the honors society.
The Benefits of Schooling
And this was the impetus I needed, the introduction that my addled brain sorely desired, to begin the change that would come over my life. I found I loved history. I found that I REALLY loved literature; Updike, Shelly, and Melville, Hemingway, Owen, and Ibsen. I was taught not only to read literature, but to dissect it, to find the beauty in the words authors used, and why they used them. And more than history or literature, I learned that I loved philosophy. From my first class something had awakened in me, a yearning to understand why these great men and women of other cultures and times long past remained great in the eyes of scholars and students alike. I realized that this is where my mind and my heart wanted to be all along, and I consumed it well beyond the requirements of my courseloads.
But that was then. Today I have an ever-growing bookshelf of texts and tomes, and a nice little stack of books that wait their turn in my lap for early-morning reading. And the reading will continue unabated; I have no intention of ceasing to understand, explore and contemplate ideas in metaphysics, ethics and the philosophy of mind. It’s a most fascinating study and one I glean great pleasure from. But the writing … the writing has suffered.
Tired and Old, Old and Tired
I have no wish to continue writing for an empty room. Anything I have ever done, I have wanted to do for others; I never saw the purpose of a computer that wasn’t connected to the internet, and what was the purpose of that if not for two-way communication? So, I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote some more; for some eighteen years now I have scribbled my thoughts to the world, and I can finally say that I am done. There are no more urges to write. I have a book within me but it shall never see the light of day. There should be further essays, but I have no inclination to pen them. It is over.
Perhaps I’m simply aged and out of energy. Perhaps I feel I am wasting time I could use to bring understanding to myself, instead of anyone who might land on this site’s pages — or the pages of any site I’ve authored, really. And, perhaps I’m just emotionally exhausted. No more banging on the doors of the internet. I don’t want to decry the woes of the world, or examine the nuances of the human mind, or make much-needed references to historical facts in the face of propaganda and misinformation. This is FINISHED. I don’t want to do this anymore.
A Fond Farewell
So, my friends, whoever you may be, whether I know you or not, I am saying goodbye to this lengthy endeavor of mine, and to you, as readers of my often long-winded and sometimes complicated prose. This site will remain up for as long as I feel like paying for the hosting and the domain, and then it will slip quietly away. It was a pleasure serving you, but the servings have become less frequent, and rather than continuing to promise meals that aren’t forthcoming, I’m hanging up the apron and letting others continue dishing up what I feel the world so desperately needs.
To those very few who have stayed with me, thank you, thank you so very, very much. I am doing you a disservice. I am unworthy of you. Go out and find others, perhaps younger and more highly educated men and women, who can share these ideas and notions with you far better than I presently can.
I bid you, adieu.