And what am I doing (or not doing) now, as the world would seem to have it, that I wasn’t doing (or was) before? And what, precisely, is the nature of the accusation against me? I can’t tell. I can’t even hear it properly, I just hear that I’m responding to it rather poorly.
I have done a lot of things. I don’t, however, feel as though it was another “I,” some other “self,” more accomplished and less moody, that did them. So far as I can tell, I am the same as I have always been. Unorthodox and uneven in some ways, with accomplishment that appears to come in fits and bursts.
Will I have others?
I can only hope and assume so. Making them happen, however, is something that feels to me as though it’s more at issue this time—as if I won’t accidentally “fall” into successes as a matter of my path through the world, as happened before.
So what is apparently needed is that I attempt to maintain an incredible amount of mental discipline and act intentionally at all times so as to be above reproach on the one hand and so as to be sure not to be passed by by time and life on the other.
The steps? Are there to be steps? Surely it’s simply a matter of work, work, work, no matter what, insistently and ruthlessly, and grump, grump, grump at those who would interrupt me, alter my course, or give me advice.
But these things are not so simple. One wants a life beyond work and one wants to be loved. Discipline is difficult to maintain in the face of everything that is.
I don’t know. I guess we’ll just see what happens and I’ll try my damnedest to make progress in all things, all the time, in all ways.
Words. Rhetoric. God knows.