Unused Drafts

Between one-third and a half of everything I write for this blog never gets posted. Some drafts are simply unfocused rants, but other writings don’t make the cut because they become too personal. It doesn’t take a psychologist to realize my writing is obsessed with psychological evaluations of myself and those around me.

When I graduated from high school, I had no idea what I wanted out of life or what to expect of it. What I did know even then was that I wasn’t going to live life on anybody else’s terms. It would have never occurred to me to not go to college, but it is curious that I initially chose psychology as my major. The only class I liked in high school was history, but even at 16 I understood there was no such thing as a job liking history.

I was an optimistic teen, and believed I had a lot of wisdom to offer. I tend to consider I’ve changed drastically since then, but perhaps I’m the same person except after having ridden something of a rollercoaster nonstop for 20 years. So maybe I’m the same person only nauseous.

I have a bad habit of complaining a lot. Listening to anyone complain is exhausting. In my case it’s especially ridiculous, because my life is and generally has been wonderful. I have an instinctual urge to punch the faces of religious fanatics that constantly insist upon every occasion and circumstance, “my life is truly blessed,” but unlike those delusional hypocrites, my life is truly blessed.

It would be an understatement to point out that I am a passionate individual. I get really excited about things that excite me. The rest, whether bogus, inferior or plebeian, is irksome. I tend to speak and act rather extremely, and don’t have much patience for irrelevant niceties. The thing I am most passionate about is uncovering misconceptions, assumptions and lies, and this tends to insult those who insist on standing firm in theirs. I happen to be a compulsive thinker and researcher with a keen sense of logic, while most others tend to believe whatever makes them comfortable. Comforts often annoy me. People who insist on having them at all times unfailingly infuriate me.

While writing this blog, I spend a lot of time editing out subtle digs aimed at people I disdain who don’t even read this thing. I leave a few in just for good measure, but for the most part negative energy is wasted energy as it is not constructive. I never forget those who have been kind to me. Unfortunately, I also don’t tend to forget times when I’ve been disrespected, and so I must be diligent in reminding myself that there is little to be gained from wishing ill of others. I think the idea that karma exists is absurd, as it is but one of many examples of humans blindly insisting that what they hope is true actually is. It is as easy to find the rationale to justify any belief as it is difficult to entertain the probability that your beliefs are unfounded.

In writing this self-absorbed blog, I’ve had to learn to write as if I’m sharing all kinds of secrets while leaving out telling details that are really nobody’s business. Also, truth is sometimes grayed in favor of humor or cunning. As part of an intended jeer written in a recent unused draft, I observed: “The main skill in writing is demonstrating how crafty one can be at subterfuge.” Perhaps the greatest gift in writing is the opportunity it provides to inspire. This is precisely why the most inspiring people are the biggest liars.