After I reread it, this turned out to be one of those posts I might take down after a good night’s rest… so get it while you can.

There was a time, way back in my pre-computer-science-educated years when I actually wanted to pursue writing fiction as a career; it was my dirty little secret. (hah… look where we are now…)

These was also a time, I must say, that I was good at it; at least above average. People around me were stroking my ego, and if you look very, very hard, and you know the super secret pen name, you can actually find something I wrote, still for sale, on Amazon.

Now, only slightly older and even more slightly wiser, I think most of that “writing” was trite and exploitative. I am so very embarrassed by the early stuff that everyone liked; I’m at a loss for why it “worked,” and I’d rather it just go away.

It got so bad that in college, I went through a phase where I was so hateful towards the work I was doing, feeling very ashamed and unsupported, that I physically destroyed a lot of my earlier efforts.

It was dramatic… something out of a bad WB show- ripping up pages and igniting them in a literal blaze of… well not so much glory.

It was the shock of being exposed to and desperately humbled by stunningly brilliant writers at the onset of my college years…

Hence, Computer Science…

Before it came to that, in high school, I participated in a writer’s workshop/retreat.

In one of the sessions, we did this exercise writing short stories about ourselves living in the future; a decade, to be precise. This was meant to get at some personal goal setting and value exploration (under the guise of doing some story arc work).

Barring the smart-alecs writing disaster stories or over-the-top rise to glories (a la Donald Trump), most everyone wrote revealing, honest, and optimistic futurecounts of their lives.

Hearing people read their stories, I distinctly remember mentally weighing their ambition against my arrogant and unearned judgment of their talent. The other day, I saw an announcement online about one of these people doing some Ph.D. work in storytelling or something. Beyond that, I don’t know where these people went with their fledgling crafts.

I imagine most of them went on to pursue perfectly ordinary lives. Sadly content.

I bring this up because I think that tiny hour-long diversion with a bunch of loopy, wannabe writers may have been one of the last times I actually stopped and intensely visualized where I wanted to be.

Very recently, I’ve come to terms that I’ve entered a phase of restlessness. Not so much boredom as much dissatisfaction. I’m still trying to figure out exactly when I started feeling this way. I suspect it was long ago… perhaps as early as when I stopped working with Alex and took a perfectly ordinary job for a recent Comp Sci grad.

I’ve had cause and opportunity this past month to step back and take stock. I spent many, many hours over the past few weeks contemplating and writing and, yes, even meditating on what I need right now.

In self-help speak: I’m reevaluating my short-term priorities and ranking my activities on their relative value towards reaching my more value-driven ambitions.

I think most of the stuff I’m working on is worthwhile. Some of it pays the bills, while the other activities are paying, shall we say, non-tangible dividends. I can’t say that I’m exactly unhappy with my work in various places.

However, I’ve already started renegotiating my commitments with several of the groups I’ve been “working” with (I have not been as effective with them as I would like, I must definitely note)…

I’m retooling, planning to aggressively get my proverbial “house” in order, and starting to slough off the cruft.

Then, if I discover that they fit WELL with my value system, I might reintroduce some of these activities onto my plate.

I’m experiencing an urge to make some lifestyle tweaks that will definitely increase my kookiness quotient.

There are going to be people near to me that I don’t expect to really get what I’m doing. They shouldn’t take it personally.

The unknown is a very scary and lonely place. As I’m willing myself into what many would consider abject eccentricity, I’m finding this will take its toll on my confidence, but defragging my mental hard drive is introducing clarity.

Anyway. My mind’s in a weird place right about now, but I have hope I have hopped on the right train.