Perhaps you jump out of bed in the morning, planets shaking and comets shattering before your feet hit the floor. Maybe you’re the person who’s done their laundry and had their workout and fed six kids and written a book before 6am. Or maybe you’re me, slogging out of bed at 6 just in time to slap makeup on and get to work right as the clock strikes 7. Maybe you’re me, giving up and watching Netflix because the depression of letting a sweet potato go bad was too much to overcome. Maybe you’re me, writing line after line to die in your site’s drafts because…you’re waiting.
Waiting on perfect.
I’m still caught in the middle of the new year vibes, stuck in the scraps of planning, trapped trying to work out 2018 until I can be sure it’ll be one for the books. And it’ll be November before it’s figured out, and in November I’ll identify a February failing and realize everything was built over a fault line, so I’ll wind back the clock and sit in despair until perfect comes.
All my life I’ve wanted perfect. Not in so many words, not in so many ways, not with so many definitions. But I did, because the stars have to align into the Mona Lisa before I take a chance on them. Ideas must be fully formed. Actions immune to further tweaking. Projects proofed against failure. Words jammed into an unbreakable order.
Waiting for the plan that will rocket me into perfection.
I define perfect in a hundred ways. It’s words that strikes lightning into the hearts of the readers. It’s the thinkers I look up to, against whom I’m always measuring, knowing I’ll never make it. It’s the five-year mark in front of me; the place I wish was behind me. It’s every 23-year-old who’s already passed up this 24-year-old.
I’ll never quit hoping for perfect. But I’m pumping hard to start settling a little sooner for suitable. So here’s this week’s Suitable:
I started this site spontaneously, if by spontaneously you mean something you’ve been intending to do for eons. I’ve had several people talk to me about planning: what are my goals? What’s my roadmap for attaining them? (By the way. To every person who has invested interest in reading this mediocrity, sending me their thoughts about various topics, and talking to me about either my plans or my content: you are gold. Possibly also a bot. Mostly gold, though, and I write exclusively for you.) So as of today the plan for this year is this:
Tuesday: Stream of consciousness post, aka Probably Don’t Read This. This will be the knee-jerk stuff, the midnight meditations stuff, the twitter outrage stuff, the 15-minute-a-day-reading stuff, or the “my-milk-expired-and-I-can’t-cook-without-spice-packs” stuff.
Sunday: Fully-researched article on a culturally-current item or person of interest. (Nikki Haley, my current heroine, coming up next.) Part of the hang-up in writing at the moment is finding the time to invest the research I deem necessary to come across at least an eighth as smart as Buzzfeed. To solve this problem, I’ll dedicate at least an hour each evening to one quality weekly article to publish Sunday, rather than smashing together some tweets and adding some conjunctions and barbecue sauce. Or doing an hour’s research on three different topics that I never finish.
Eventually: People keep telling me nobody reads. Which is probably why I write instead of doing stand-up comedy. And while attaching my voice and face to my ideas is like asking Trump to tweet a compliment to CNN, I’m going to plan on creating a weekly video that introduces Sunday’s post… later on this year. Procrastination is the quickest road to mediocrity, my friends. In a perfect world, it’s also the road to Youtube monetization.
I wrote a couple weeks back about reading 15 minutes a day this year. It’s been so fantastic for habit-developing (meaning I only missed four days, you see) that I’m expanding to a schedule to incorporate this whole evolution-toward-a-better-self thing. That way I can fall deeper into depression when I miss my first scheduled hour from 5-6am of test prepping for the GRE/LSATs. Language study, local reporting (I’ve been hired on as a freelance city government reporter, ya’ll!), and this site will each get an hour from 6-9pm. I’m putting that all there, not because I think it’s interesting or valuable to you, but to shame myself with later.
I’m going to put this on you. For the six and a half people who want to join the conversation I’m having here, send me the latest issues, ideas, and outrage you find appealing. If you have something you think I should talk about, PM me or post it on my facebook page, any time of day or Mercury’s night. Or ask me what the living heck I think I’m doing talking about the world and stuff; that’s a regular conversation topic Myself has with Me too, so you won’t be alone.
Please note, just because a person, channel, company, or site is referenced or showcased here does not mean I endorse all content or ideas put forth by said person, channel, company, or site. That being said, a couple bits of random to round out today’s cast:
“The most dangerous thing you can do is to take any one impulse of your own nature and set it up as the thing you ought to follow at all costs. There is not one of them which will not make us into devils if we set it up as an absolute guide. You might think love of humanity in general was safe, but it is not. If you leave out justice you will find yourself breaking agreements and faking evidence in trials ‘for the sake of humanity’, and become in the end a cruel and treacherous man.” (C.S. Lewis)
Every single writer, commentator, pundit, blogger, journalist, SJW, and influencer needs to read this quote. We cannot espouse compassion without discernment or love without logic. Equality cannot be examined outside of the context of disparity.
Next up, a bit of nihilism for your viewing enjoyment:
Finally, a couple people have asked me if I’m trying to get famous. Several people have asked what on earth I’m doing. To be fair, I’d like to get famous for learning how to finish milk before it expires, but that’s not the ultimate goal here. Obviously, part of me wouldn’t mind an audience, though it’s incredibly doubtful I’d know how to keep one. Not a Times Square-sized audience, mind you; maybe just enough to fill my living room. (My living room seats four; six if you don’t mind the floor. I digress.) I’m writing, and I’m going to continue writing, because my audience is not the ultimate purpose. Forcing myself to cross-examine my beliefs is the process; the exploration of truth is the end game. If I can encourage a few of you to challenge, debate, and analyze the assumptions the world is pushing on us, if I can make someone violently angry at me for espousing the wrong cause, if I can help in the smallest fraction of turning the tide on groupthink—then my goal in preventing 1984 is complete and I can go back to figuring out the milk crisis.