One a hour a day

I should at least respond to the daily prompts. Just to write something. To exercise those writing muscles.
I don’t really want to. I do it out of guilt.

One hour a day. Why can’t I spend just one hour a day writing? Because I’d have to force myself to. So I don’t for days. I consider it, but I’m having too much fun doing other things.

I’m retired. I don’t have to do anything. For some people that would mean they can finally focus their time on the things they want to do, but couldn’t because of work commitments. For me retirement has been about answering the question, “What DO I really want to do?”

I don’t have a way to judge the weight of what I want to do with what I should do. If I can do what I want. If I don’t have to compromise. Why should I force myself to do something I don’t want to do, but should do, instead of what I want.

I know it sounds like the dilemma of a spoiled, petulant teenager. That’s the way it usually feels like too. But the sad part is, it can be paralyzing at times.

Deep down I know it doesn’t matter. I climbed out on an existential ledge and I can’t get back. Once you begin to understand just how vast, ancient, and ambivalent the Universe is, and human tragedy is objectively insignificant. Famines, plagues, wars, and other mass human casualties are just part of the process of an evolving universe. A comet wiped out most life on earth at one time. Some day, inevitably, not only each of our individual lives, but all life will end. So if I don’t write a blog entry, it’s not that big of a deal.

So why do I feel guilty when I don’t write? Because I made a promise to someone. Our family motto is Remember Your Promises. It is so hard. But I’m trying sweetheart. I’m trying.