For the first time yesterday I thought of how silly my 7 year pursuit has been. Roughly seven years ago, I said that I would become a writer so that I could make someone feel the way that Murakami's Norwegian Wood made me feel.
Yesterday, I was in the coworking space's kitchenette making an airthermos of coffee. It was Sunday, so the space manager wouldn't be coming in to make it like usual. The space was alone, but I figured somebody would come in. Weekend hustlers.
And while making that coffee alone in that empty space, and alone is how I felt... but not lonely at all. I felt strong, and not needing anyone, but still wishing my girlfriend well as she slumbered in her hotel in San Diego. I was thinking about my new business partners -- it's not official that I'm a partner, but you know I just feel that way -- and was thinking about all the great things that we could do together. And for the first time I felt a little silly about writing stories.
I am a firm believer that fiction allows one to tell their perspective more truthfully then non-fiction. I am a firm believer that this applies to near everyone, yet I feel as though, I'm getting to a stage, where I can be truthful, without fiction. And then I remember back when I'd made that pledge to make someone feel a certain way through my stories. And I felt silly, now, thinking that I'd need to make up a story to do it.
I am at a crossroads of sorts. There are two paths I can take. And those two feel so so so right. I remember in college, I felt as though I had a million paths... which essentially means I had zero. But now that I've had two... two that have been honed over time and effort, it feels good to be here.
The problem with choice is that you never want zero or just one. But you also don't want an abundance.
A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.
Stalin -- according to Taleb