Thread: -The Docket-

My my, it sure has been a long time since I wrote anything here. As usual, real life responsibilities got in the way. I suppose, one could say that the most tragic aspect of being an adult is the inability to silence the constant nagging of our conscious mind. With all the pleasures accompanying adulthood, the simple truth that our fantasies are finite and temporary by their very natures, serves to distract, and some how diminish the pure escapism of our younger days. Indeed, during the Medieval Period, when faced with drastically shortened life-spans, thanks to the horrific presence of the Black Death...the philosophers of the age began to realize that not all aspects of wisdom were necessarily good. They penned their thoughts, coining a phrase which has haunted me, ever since I first laid eyes upon it...With age, man becomes wiser, yet great wisdom coincides with great sorrow. Wisdom and sorrow, both are cut from the same stone. Like opposite faces of a coin, they are inexorably linked, and one brings the other. Perhaps the fluidity of human life brings this notion into a keen focus for me. I'm not a particularly gloomy soul, yet, I realizeto a much greater extent nowthat the sands of time continue to work against me. All of the sudden, a question races through the mind...did I ignore important moments of my life, in my haste to achieve my goals? It's a fair question, and one in which each soul must find their own, individual answer. Yet, certain aspects of any task which is remotely worthwhile, requires that we sacrifice for the goal. Wisdom brings sadness, for the reason that with wisdom, we realize that we are unable to have it all. Grandiose ideals of the past fade by the wayside, as we settle for the more practical and realistic aspects of our life. As things sometimes don't go our way, then the constant worrying over the drudgeries of every-day life hamper, to varying degrees, the powerful creative force of the imagination. Yet, despite all of this, it remains necessary to seek an escape from the mundane and ordinary. For where we surrender our creative spirit...therein madness ensues. So, what in the hell does this all have to do with my long absence from recording my thoughts here? Simple, really, job security, and financial worries. When I entered law school, nearly six years ago now, the schools proclaimed a wide array of promises, that looking back on it now, I should have realized didn't carry the weight of truth. But, there was one truth that reigned supreme in those days. Pursuing a professional degree assured some sense of job security. For generations this notion proved true. People will always fight, thus, people will always need lawyers. Yet, when looking at the way things have been going, since the economic downturn, it's not always true that people need lawyers. And, necessities will always trump perceived necessities. That is, the fights are shelved, as food and other important factors of subsistence take center stage. Oh, how the bitter truth of the economic developments remained blissfully absent from my mind during the hellish three years of my mental transformation. I was astute, and paid close attention to the lessons taught in those three lost years. With great hope, I placed myself through the great misery that accompanies the form of any post-graduate level work. In the end, to be swamped with debt, and little real avenue to pay it off, as the legal fieldat least in my neck of the woodshas few opportunities for advancement past the part-time, or pro bono stage. Yet, there's a reason why I'm not bitter about this. Through all the hell, an important, undeniable skill imprinted itself upon me. The ability to more thoroughly, and concretely record my thoughts in writing. I dabbled with role playing and prose before law school. However, my mind would trip over itself, in attempting to convey itself, through the mechanical motions of my fingers. I made large conclusions, or jumped in a narrative, thinking that the reader was able to keep up with my mind...not realizing, that I must paint a complete picture for the reader to truly enjoy the words flowing like paint strokes upon an artist's magnum opus. Without the color of a full fleshed idea, how does a reader truly share the passion of the author? I learned that lesson the hard way. An alien form of writing, which seemed like Dr. Seuss on steroidsNo, Sam I am, I do not like green eggs and ham...green is a color found in the spectrum....ham is a type of food...food is consumed for energy...etc.forced itself upon me through a painful course of trial and error. Not to mention painful grades. But, by the end of my three year journey, I realized something. I realized that my character development improved, that major plot holes no longer littered most of my writing, even when I wasn't fastidiously double checking my work. That's not to say that some plot-holes didn't remain. Rather, I mean that the overall instances of the bastards was greatly reduced. Thus, with the sadness which came with the wisdom I gained, I also discovered that there is some real joy that comes with wisdom. The philosopher's of old were shaped by their environment. Death, pain, sadness, and sorrow all plagued the Middle Ages. Sadness was a state of being. Now, it's more of a metaphor. A reference to learning from our mistakes. I don't think the lessons I learned were mistakes. Yes, I made plenty of mistakes along the way. Rather, I think my sadness comes more from the fact that I realize a care-free way of life is over. Still, I wouldn't trade my experiences for the world.