Moving Targets Pt. II

I stopped writing about relationships.  I stopped writing about finding love.  Because it happened.  And at first I was disappointed with myself.  Had I lost my passion?  Had I settled for something less than I imagined?   Had I gotten too comfortable in my own skin too quickly?

But in truth, I am the well fed man no longer hungering after food.  It was easy to daydream about candy and pizza while I was ravenously empty.  It was easy to write a book about all the meals I didn’t have.  But upon being satiated and satisfied– the target moved.  I had inadvertently stumbled up the staircase of Maslow’s hierarchy.

And when I dusted myself off I was working on my credit score.  And repainting the guest room.  And trying to figure out how to cut branches from the tangerine tree without it dripping acid sap on me again.   So bundled up in gloves and linens like some wilderness man on a stepladder with pruning sheers in hand… I took a look around, and realized this is who I am now.

And I’m happy.

Bump it with:

Moving Targets

My life has been going great.  This month alone, I’ve accomplished a lot.  I couldn’t fix my old car, so I bought a new one.  I learned to drive a stick-shift in the span of half a day.  I’m no longer mopeding around like some college hipster; instead I’ve skipped a step entirely on gone strait to mid-life-crisis car.  Gosh, I hope that doesn’t mean I’m dying at sixty.

death of the Dragon…

…birth of the Serpent.

I published my first book online.  I can actually tell people I am a published author and not just an aspiring one.  Sure I’ve only sold enough copies to cover somewhere between a dinner for two at Olive Garden and half a ticket to see Book of Mormon… but people have bought my book.  People have spent time out of their lives reading what I have to say.

But now that it’s done– it’s done.  I used to lie awake in bed thinking about this moment.  The moment I’m driving again as a published author.  Now that I am in this moment, there’s an emptiness.  It’s not that it isn’t satisfying, it’s that satisfaction has already worn off and I am inventing new targets for further down the line.  Why am I still dating, when people way stupider and uglier than me are already married and popping out kids?  I need to get into a marriage-worthy relationship.  I’ve only sold my book to friends and family… I need to get strangers to read it.  I need to hike more, and eat salads, and get into better shape.  I need to write another book…

I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with what my life has given me.  And I think I’m okay with that.