A way with words

It's funny, yet sad, that I don't write more about things on my mind. I kept a journal for years -- I started it in 8th grade and then continued through high school, college and for a short time after that. Then social networking came around, and while blogging took over my typical journals, it just wasn't the same. My former "deep" thoughts went away.

While some of this can be attributed to my happiness in life, I'm sort of mad at myself that I stopped writing so much about my feelings. I think the endless quest toward happiness kept me going and once that happened, I didn't feel compelled to write anymore. But that's kind of stupid, isn't it? Yes I'm happy, but I still have things in this brain of mine to get out.

When it comes to certain parts of my life, I'm covered. I love to run, so I have a running blog. I love taking photos, so I have a not-so-regular photo blog. And the thing I'm most happy about -- being a father -- is covered by a blog documenting his life. This blog was supposed to fill in the holes -- at certain points it has. I was very, very unhappy in my last job, so I expressed that on here -- sort of. But a blog is not a journal, not in the way journals were meant to be. I just wonder if I'll ever have the chance again to sit down with a notebook and a pen and just write.

An old girlfriend of mine told me several years ago that I had "a way with words." That stuck with me many years ago and I've never forgotten that. I have some classic love letters and breakup letters out there somewhere, but I never kept any copies. I kind of regret that.

It's funny that a simple piece of paper with words on it can change lives so much. Yet in an instant we can rip that paper to shreds or burn it, and it's gone forever. It's magical in a way. Blogs have changed all that -- sometimes that can be good, sometimes it's not. What's written here will always exist in some form. But what I wrote as a teen can just fade into a memory. My journals detailing half my life to date could be gone in a fire and I'd never get them back. Take your pick on which one you prefer.

Change, the theme of '08 and '09

Something is happening. Not sure if it's what I want or not, but it's happening. And it may bring some big, big, big changes. If I do it ...

Oh motivation, where have you gone?

I've never been more unmotivated in my life. I didn't get the promotion that I, and many other co-workers, knew I deserved. In fact, I had a couple of co-workers who were absolutely shocked that we hired outside for this particular position. So in the past two weeks I've been so mad that I just don't know what to think. I was ready for the next step. I knew I could do this. I've done it before and wowed others around me that I could handle added responsibilities.

But now that I've basically been told that I'm good, but not good enough, I'm ready for the next chapter. Somehow, though, I need to get motivated. I need to act like I care. But I don't care. I'm no longer happy to just have a job. I know there are hundreds of thousands of people who are unemployed who would cringe at hearing me say that. My current position would probably generate 100 resumes in a week, easily. I've walked that line before.

Something has to happen soon. It has to. It's can be like this for 35 more years.

If I ran things

I was once a boss. And a good boss I was told. But when I jumped from my comfort zone, other people didn't like me. Now I'm stuck doing something I don't want to be and I basically have no chance of moving up anytime soon. And my boss and my boss's boss can't do anything right. It's like two of them and then seven of us who get it and we only try to get them to get it. It's the most backward thing I've ever seen.

Round and round I go

I've got two different lives going on -- one at work, one at home. And they're completely different. One is the best it's ever been; one may be the worst it's ever been. And I'm spinning circles trying to get out.

By the way, it's the work life that's bugging me so much.

Where's the passion?

I don't like to complain about work. I try to love what I do. But I don't. I'm not passionate about it ... and I need to find my passion. It's out there, somewhere. I just have to go out there and get it.

It'll happen one day soon, I know. And by soon I mean by the end of the year. And it'll happen when I least expect it. For now, I'm stuck.

If I write it ...

... will you read it? Five months later I come back to this blog. How bad it that? But I'm finding that lately I have a lot to say. I think this happens every year around this time. It was 17 years ago on May 1 that I was in 8th grade and began writing a journal. I wrote and wrote and wrote up until about five years ago. Now I blog ... but sometimes I find that I still have a lot on my mind. Like right now. Stay tuned ...