As is often the case, I find myself tossed on the waves of self-doubt and morbidity. As the years progress, I find myself more and more encased in a world of hopelessness, of regret, of nothingness, of--more than anything--inaction. Each day I seem less able to fight and overcome this terrible ennui of the soul. Having just read a wonderful book by Irvin D. Yalom, When Nietzsche Wept, I find myself compelled to look at my life and, if not to fight, at least question my inability to fight, to overcome. While I feel ready to return to the writings of Nietzsche for inspiration, I do not know if I will even do that. I do know that the teachings of Nietzsche that I hold most dear--the importance of overcoming, becoming oneself, disregarding the herd and avoiding the horrible jaws of slave mentality--are the things I feel unable to make myself do. I continue to live in the past, to look to the specter of my former self, a lad of infinite potential, and continue living life as if it is a waiting game. I wait for fame, fortune, happiness; I expect these things to seek me out and find me; I content myself by saying that these things belong to me by rights, that Fate has ordained that this is so. I allow myself to ignore the fact that Fate, if he ever even existed, died over ten years ago.

Why am I unable to work, to focus my vision and struggle for the things I want and expect? When inspiration of any kind actually comes to me, I waste the opportunity to accomplish anything. Rather than study or work, I undertake a campaign of finding sources to aid me in my work, and inevitably I never actually start the work. When I want to overhaul my web site and make it at least respectable in content and appearance, I go searching on the Internet for information, help, guidelines, suggestions, etc. Finding one, I go on to find another, congratulating myself for finding resource materials. What happens to my web site? Nothing. I don't even look at it or think about it. My endeavor quickly ends up postponed and then forgotten. I tell myself I will get to work tomorrow, yet that tomorrow becomes another today. How can I find myself trapped in the past and the present at the same time? When I become depressed at my failure and inactivity, I turn to my emotional addictions and habits for comfort. I listen to Judy Garland songs and take comfort in the kinship I feel with her, for we are both lonely souls wandering a path we cannot recognize as our own. I turn on the television to check the news headlines and end up watching television for hours. Inevitably, I go to bed and tell myself that I will begin tomorrow. Always tomorrow! Tomorrow I will begin writing that novel, tomorrow I will learn Perl or some other programming language. tomorrow I will have the last laugh and those who want to see me fail will be devastated by my brilliance. What a terrible creature tomorrow is. It is a spectre more frightening and dangerous than the past. I want to do everything tomorrow, all at once. I demand instant accomplishment and am happy with nothing less. It does not matter that such a thing is impossible. Yet, in terms of my writing, the knowledge that I cannot write an entire novel tomorrow keeps me from writing even a single page today.

The enemy, if he is not actually myself, has long been well known to me. My enemy is Nothingness. How clearly I see his blank face, how strongly I feel his arms squeeze tighter and tighter against my chest, continuously crushing my very soul. Why do I not fight? Why do I not overcome? It would be much better to try and fail than to fail to try. At least there is honour in the effort.

Will I post this article? Will I leave it up and available online? I do not know. Perhaps I will write more on this subject. While it is embarrassing, I know that the pain of embarrassment is one of the strongest allies I have in my hopes of alleviating my situation and of seizing that which I now wait to be handed to me.

April 1, 2001