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Enigma

I turned 31 last Thursday, and sometime later in the week I was wondering how I had changed? Without reflection, it seems like age creeps upon us - catching us completely unaware. I don’t feel any older now than I did when I was in my mid-20s. I was thinking whether my writing had changed much. I thought it would be a good barometer of the subtle progress I made if I compared some old writing with some new. I made a mental note to go on an expedition to the garage and to try find my old journals that are buried away there.

By some small coincidence, this weekend, I stumbled upon my first online journal whilst I was doing some housekeeping on my computer. The first entry dates back to September ‘98 - almost 10 years ago. I read through some of the entries, and it was a very strange experience. My signature is definitely threaded throughout the writing but there were some things that surprised me. I had preconceptions that the writing would be stilted, primitive and more grammatically imperfect than my current blog writing. What I found was almost the opposite. The writing seems more fluent. It appears more honest and straight forward (though a bit flowery). The imagery is basic, but more imaginative. A part of me felt disappointed that here I was 10 years on and no progress. If anything I may have gone backwards. Grammatically my writing seems even worse now. I have taken a poor grounding in grammar and added some bad habits in to the mix. In regards to the actual prose itself.Maybe I am over-analytic these days, my writing may not be any more primitive now, but it is certainly more stilted. I think a mismanaged life/work balance has a lot to answer for.

Here is my first entry, from my first online journal - a return to innocence.

Momentary dance of my heart

Here is the feeling again, this time its a movie on TV that sparked me off. Its a feeling that’s pretty hard to explain, the nearest I got to it in a poem is one called Momentary dance of my heart. I think must be linked with escapism, getting captured in a story forgetting about your own life and its troubles. Is it a nice feeling or a bad feeling, well I think its a bit of both. I’m alone and all these thoughts and emotions seem to be racing through me. Barriers which seem 16ft which forever surround me and hinder my progress in life, suddenly only seem 4ft tall. For a brief moment I`m peering over the barrier looking what’s on the other side at all the possibilities. Nothing seems so difficult, the things which usually seem impossible for this brief moment feel within my touch. I want to run out the house and dance in the cool of the night, be spontaneous, forget about the usual shackles which tie me rigid.

This feeling usually always hits me when I’m alone, later at night. Not being able to do nothing but watch this brief state of mind slip from my grasp. I know come tomorrow morning those big barriers will be up and as strong as ever. I will wake up and everyday nothing will be sitting on my door step telling me that this Sunday will be like every other. But the foggy memory of the night befores clarity will signify that there is hope, that potential is inside me,….. somewhere. I just have to find a key and these teasing glimpses of the other side of these barriers gives me extra motivation. Now I’ve started this journal, this will stand as a reminder for what I’m searching for.

Well its past midnight here, I`m sleepy and full of a cold. Maybe if I re-read this tomorrow it wont make any sense at all. But its a journal, no-one says it has to make sense!

Posted by Andrew on Tuesday, April 24th, 2007 at 10:55 am.