End of November

The end of the month comes so quickly anymore. It was just Thanksgiving two days ago. The Christmas tree is being put up in sections. Most of the work is done, except for the bulbs. I have to stop frequently, not because of physical exhaustion, but that of mental. I want it up, for better or worse. There is a large debate on whether I should string up the bushes in the front yard. It’ll only be a matter of weeks before I take them down anyway.

Another friend is engaged as of last Tuesday. I’m happy for them both, or as much as a detached third-party can be. There’s something I’m lacking to truly feel the vicarious warmth of others sharing milestone moments. It’s hard to explain, but the emptiness suggests I wasn’t built to be warm… or aware of relationships, I suppose. There’s a part of me that says “you will feel it, when you find it.” That’s not helping.

It has been hard writing stories as of late. There has been a lot of emotional tumult and thought over the past few weeks. Sometimes, I wonder about my existence too much. From what I’ve experienced and what I’ve heard, people are way too quick to give flimsy advice when I discuss it. There is never anything quick and dirty that will help someone out of a hole. There may be an element of customization missing, and above all teamwork. Some people just need to put the money where their mouths are.

With all the rumination of my faults, I’ve come to a startling conclusion. I hesitate to write much further on it, as it gets very personal. I can also see it being too honest for polite company. You’re all polite company, correct? Sure, you are. However, I will say the revelation has had quite the helping hand in my concerns about life. I had to learn all this the hard way.

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The Art of Talking Yourself Up

Even though the video is pitch black, the audio confirms life exists beyond my domicile. With all of the creaking, chirping, and squeaking going on outside my window you’d think wildlife is in need of an oil can. This is fairly common for a Summer’s night in the fields, though, and it’s quite welcome. The alternative is disheartening. I’m strongly adverse to another winter here, but where would I go? Who really wants an outsider? Having the experience of more than one out-of-state relocation, I can tell you few.

At this time of night (4 A.M.), my brain would be faltering and sleep would consume most of my thoughts. This is not the case tonight, as I really put the nose to the grindstone yesterday morning and invested 5 hours of sweat equity into the house with an additional 4 hours of life maintenance (e.g. mowing the lawn, doing laundry, etc.). At least I have a new chandelier, new ceiling fan, mowed lawn, and clean clothes to show for it. It’s a pretty basic work and reward situation. Writing, on the other hand, is a little less straightforward.

I’ve got professional writer’s block right now, but it hasn’t to do with any of my stories. I was going to dedicate a few hours yesterday evening for writing a profile for the family business, but instead fell asleep for 8 hours. Now, I’m wide awake playing personal schedule catch up. While adhering to a schedule is not my idea of fun, there are times when I know I need to move the ball down the field. That’s the mark of an effective person: identifying priorities.

You see, we’re sending in a proposal on Thursday to work on a project with the state of Ohio. The government is making its usual feel-good laundry list of demands and the owners, my parents, have realized they can’t complete it all themselves. Being the good-natured son and dutiful employee I am, I’ve finished some components of the request to speed things up. Coming from a small public accounting firm background, this is another day at the office: a client needs to be done in five days and there’s not even a draft on the partner’s desk… HAUL ASS, PEOPLE!

The biggest block to this profile I have is a crossover… a holdover from the personal realm. Company profiles are tethered to advertising and advertising is indelibly linked to sales. In sales, the concept of “talking up” the product or service rears its oft-deceitful head. Ever hear the expression “could sell freezers to Eskimos” attributed to a phenomenal salesman? Yeah. Deceit brings in money, and this isn’t even speaking on a fraud level. This is everyday business.

I’ve struggled with this concept for decades. My personality is one to reject boasting or otherwise hustling anyone in business. My ethics bind me to a position of letting the quality speak for itself. For years, I thought if my work proved itself strong, it would be self-evident to others. They would naturally choose to work with me. As good and right and egalitarian and logical and ethical and solid as that was on paper, it didn’t translate well in the trenches. Often the client has little idea of what is quality and what isn’t. This is hard for me to accept, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t the truth.

Who do they pick? They pick the lesser quality work with a company that dazzled. Even if the client eventually figures out the work is sub par, I’ve noticed clients will work with a lower-functioning business if they feel comfortable with the team. It blows my mind; I, personally, look for results. If someone isn’t performing, I put in the energy to find someone who does. That’s how I do business.

Now it’s my turn with sales. Even though I know it isn’t shuck and jive, it still feels like braggadocio. It’s hard for me to refrain from erasing the sentence I’ve written several times before. I’m getting in the way of myself. I’d love to instantly come up with lines that are comfortable to me and effective with my audience, but I don’t know if that common ground exists. This is absolutely why I didn’t go into sales or do well at the record label. My ethics are just too strong.

Restless

Some people have writer’s block. With such concerns beautifully outlined in Folio and Ink’s post “The Separation of Art and Craft in Literature,” I could see why people would feel uninspired. In a rough way, I would assume this lack of inspiration from the core aids and abets the dreaded blockage. Although… I’m not sure if inspiration is completely out of my reach. It feels like wafts of smoke above my head waiting to be pulled down and inhaled.

The bigger problem, in my mind and to the best of my… limited… abilities, is the distraction of restlessness. I want to be entertained and entertain as well. I want to create something of value from these wisps of vapor and mold it into something we all can appreciate. Often times, though, I find myself running my fingers through my hair and the subsequent oily digits massaging my forehead as an endless stream of thoughts and desires run around in my mind like a centrifuge.

I’m vaping, drinking pop, eating snack mix, and watching In the Heat of the Night with Sidney Poitier while writing my thoughts here. If it weren’t so late, I’d want to grab a beer at the tavern down road. It’s closing by now. I’d like to be anywhere right now, I suppose. I get wanderlust often.

On the other hand, I have this thought, this scrap of an idea that I want to develop in my head. I’m tugging at the tendrils of the cloud, but I spin out. It’s so hard to concentrate when my mind’s in several places at once. Some of it is external (e.g. the movie isn’t helping), but a lot of it is internal. If it’s not the lack of concentration, it’s the fatigue and depression. It’s all so frustrating at times.