Message in a bottle

Hello there. Who’s reading? Who’s listening? Am I alone? …probably. Lonely? Nah.

A Life, Drifting

I’m just a single guy, going through life, doing the things he enjoys.

I have three kids—have I mentioned that before? I can’t remember. This blog’s always been offhand. Write something, forget it. Write again, forget again.

I’ve written short stories. Novels. Dumb little creative things over the years.

But I never publish. I wonder why... I know why...

The Ache of Making

Ever feel like what you did wasn’t enough? Like whatever you wrote wouldn’t make the cut— people wouldn’t read it, couldn’t enjoy it, probably wouldn’t want it?

I’ve been battling with productivity. I hate that word. “Be productive”—for what?

I pay for my kid’s school. I give all I have. I don’t want to pretend.

I am a writer. I’m not. I am a dreamer. I’m jaded. I am lonely. I am alone. No—I’m tired.

Tired of pretending. Of trying. Of intending but never managing.

Coping. Not coping.

The Human Contradiction

Be judged—whether you like it or not. Move on. Raise your chin. You did your best. No, you didn’t. You could’ve done more. But it was enough. No, it wasn’t. Yes... probably. Could’ve been better, huh?

Who would read the ramblings of a 39-year-old man watching life walk past, never achieving anything except being the best father he could be.

The Spiral

I’ve started taking anxiolytics. I was always upset. Angry. Now I get introspective.

Now I spiral.

Try to metastasize my feelings. Fall into the same pattern:

“I didn’t do what I wanted.” “But I did what I could.” More importantly— “I did what I had to.”

I just want to have to be a writer.

The Ladder: Urgent → Important → What Matters

How to prioritize your life: First what’s urgent, then what’s important, then what matters.

I’ve been stuck in urgent for a decade. Sometimes I do what’s important. I’m tired of never having the energy for what matters.

Message Sent

So here it is— Another message in a bottle. Thrown to the vastness of the internet. To see if anyone reads it.

If it finds you: Hi. Nice to meet you.

I hope you’re having a fantastic day. Or if not happy—at least not sad.

Me? I’m fine. Nah—not fine. But content. Yeah. Content works. Content is better than despairing.

The Epic & the Illusion

There was a dude in /r/writing— Spent ten years writing his epic.

It’s too big. No one will read it. No one will edit it. No one will touch it with a ten-foot pole.

And I got upset. Here I am, writing short stories. Hyper-aware. Intentional. And there he was:

“Everything I wrote is important to the plot,” he said.

No, it’s not.

It’s easy to hide behind creative integrity when the work you’ve been carrying for ten years starts carrying you.

Sunk cost fallacy— Even writers fall for it.

If You Read This…

I just want to be read. Maybe bring you a smile. Maybe be recognized. Maybe touch something deep inside you you didn’t know needed tending.

But it’s fine. I’ll keep writing. Maybe. Sometime. Someday.

And if you read it— That’d be swell.

Once Again

Hope you’re having a fantastic day.