The problem with journals is that we don't go back and read them.  If my life is worth writing down, it might be worth reading, assuming I am honest when I write it down.

As a writer you are constantly asking, “Was that worth writing? Is this just brain drivel? Am I really that lame?” And so from time to time I go back and read things I have written. If it is a journal entry by me, it was normally composed in the middle of an insomnia induced 2 AM anxiety attack of self loathing fears of failure and uselessness. Always a good time had by all.

Whilst reviewing some writing today I found the following essay I wrote six years ago. It revealed a lot to me about who I was, what I feared, and what I have become. In retrospect I am glad I wrote it, but even more glad I read it.

 

5 Looks @ 28. [Yes I know there are 4....]

I will likely only be 28 for one more month.  After that I suppose that any reflections I have on life will have to recorded as a 29 year old.  So here are 5 looks at 28.

1. 28 – 10 = 18.

Ten years ago I was 18. I either knew everything or nothing at all, and my guess is that the outcome of that issue is (and was) fairly inconsequential in comparison to my belief about that reality. At this point I know three things that were true about 18. Life always has a context and that context is always changing - and once the context changes, it will never again be the same, nor will one’s ability to perceive their existence while they were in it. Example. When you are 18, you can’t image being 28. When you are 28, you still feel as though you are 18, but sadly lack the ability to recall what it actually felt like to be 18 or how you actually perceived the world. All I can recall is my own superficial judgments about who I was at 18. The closest I get now to that reality are dreams….and who really knows what that means. In the end, I suppose that I could have known everything when I was 18, at least in the context of 18, and I suppose for most of us, that is all that really mattered or matters now.

2. 28 + 2 = 30.

Thirty is the age of diminished expectations. Perhaps if you know me, and you don't, you would suggest from point one above that my expectations are already slightly diminished. What I mean to say is I think the reason people have a mid-life crisis at forty is because they diminish their expectations at thirty. Most people don't quit on themselves in their twenties. Twenties are the new pre-school years by all accounts of reality TV and who really knows what life will bring until at least 27 and a third. That said, thirty seems to be a water shed year of sorts. My guess, and I emphasize guess, is that people stop taking risks after thirty because they diminish their expectations for what might be possible in a world without boundaries. We become equally afraid of success and failure which leaves us in a vaguely familiar malaise of contented discontent. Who really knows what the real answer is, but at 28 I only have two more years to decide if I have any chance of avoiding that outcome. All suggestions appreciated.

3. Where did the Virtue go?

If you could kindly help me up on my high horse, i am in search of that thing called Virtue. Where oh where did that old dog go, perhaps its time to learn a new trick. At 28 I have the distinct impression that individualism, freedom and expression have somehow been associated with the mutual exclusion of virtue. Webster defines Virtue as general moral excellence or excellence in general. Of note is that the definition right before Virtue is "Virtual Reality" and right after virtue is "Virtuoso." Ironic, in an Alanis Morrisette sense, that the neighbors of Virtue would combine to define one that has great skill in interacting in a virtual fabricated world. Perhaps that is why I can't find Virtue any more. I can't find anyone who is committed to excellence in anything other than existing with great skill in the moral physical world they have fabricated for themselves. Virtue is perhaps the first victim of relative moralism and I just may be the second. Virtue, in my mind, is someone that is committed to excellence by a standard that is greater than their own existential compass. Where or where has Virtue gone?

4. Truth isn't what you make of it.

Truth is the most important, perhaps the only important thing in life. Truth is what separates you from Hitler. It is what separates you from the guy that flew the plane into a building on September 11. If you don't like that, then sign up for your captain's hat and get on board that airplane. Truth is what separates evil from good. We don't create truth, it created us. We don't find truth, it calls us. We don't discover truth, it opens our eyes. For many, far too many, truth is a relative term. That in and of itself is a great paradox. Without truth, there is no relativism. You say what is true for you may be different than what is true for me. If that is the case, then it isn't truth.