“the fugitive distress of hedonism"

Back again to that article about Irving Layton.

Tonight I can't shake the feeling that I've made some sort of terrible mistake in the way I've approached my life. Figuring the past that a sense of direction, an occupation — or sense of meaning even — would present itself through the course of time. That the surfacing of what the direction or pathway of my future would be organic, inevitable and indisputable. But direction is something one chooses. To be really good at something a person has to devote themselves to a passion, an idea or a craft. Without this Choosing isn't a person (in this case: me) doomed to endlessly falling down along the path of least resistance? If one is going through doors as they open, the easy path is always the right path.

I'm thinking about this tonight because I don't feel like I'm good at anything. To be more precise, I'm good at many things, but I don't feel I excel at anything. Am I a Generalist? Within a certain field, certainly, but what of the possibility of having a Speciality?

And this is the rub, yes? That the Specialist is studied, educated and devoted. Disciplined.

Am I the only one who wonders this?

I fear waking up one morning, having walked through the doors that presented themselves to me, feeling unsatisfied, unfulfilled. Alone.

I have lost the courage to attack for the heart. To reach through the skin, the rib cage, into the full flesh of Desire. I feel like I haven't Dreamt in a long time.

David asked me if my friends were worried that I seem to choose men who are unavailable. I answered that I thought there was a part of me that was unavailable, that's where the Choosing comes from.

The Future.
The Future is mine and mine alone. I refuse to share it.
Trusting others with the future seems unreliable. Shaky

Perhaps it's time to start wigging the doorknob of The Future.
Perhaps it's time to open a door that is closed, just to see what might happen...