A Cold, Wet, Dark Street

Cold, wet, and dark, well, except for the security light above my head. As I pulled my collar up around my neck, I realized I should have brought a heavier jacket.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the dark, rattling the door behind me, and the rain increased. A sudden gust pushed the drops horizontal, slapping me in the face, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand.  

The street beyond the wide sidewalk was void of traffic and I watched debris rush along the gutter, carried on swift currents, toward the drain somewhere in the dark. The waiting vortex would suck it down, into a cold spiral to a subterranean pool and from there to wherever useless things go. I suppose the ocean eventually. Someplace exotic? A fish's belly? A subduction zone, crushed and roiled into a mix of molten rock? 

Thunder exploded with a blinding flash that blew out the sensor on the light and cast me in to utter darkness. The rain became a deluge. I stepped back toward the doorway, trying to shelter against the building. The light struggled back to life after a few moments. Once restored, the glaring light made it nearly impossible to see beyond its circle. I felt trapped by it, like some bug in a glass. 

Yeah, that's what it felt like. Someone had dropped me in a glass and put a light over it. Where it was warm and dry and light reigned. They were probably sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee, feet on the desk, watching me in my damp, dark test tube. 

I sighed. Too much imagination. 

We measure our life by our success, and if we do not perceive any, we deem ourselves a failure. But perception can be flawed. Only we won't realize that until, well, until we're standing in a cold rain on a dark street, drowning. 

I'd sort of considered myself a failure at many things, but not the things that mattered. A job well done, a happy family. They were marks of success, right? I didn't have any plaques. Just a lot of photos that showed smiling success. But photos are an imperfect view of success. They're what you see at the moment. And sometimes the smiles aren't real.

The wedding photos, filled with lots of laughing, smiling people, were a prime example. Everyone there had a secret pain. A failure. Or would have before the day was out, before the week was out, before the month... you get it. 

Why is disappointment a requirement to everything? Do we really expect so much of ourselves that even a slight bump of it totally derails us? Or is it that we expect so much from our successes, more than they can deliver? And when they don't, we blame ourselves.

A streak of lightening flashed across the sky, turning the street an inky black moments later. I closed my eyes. It felt safer than that dark street. I blew out a deep sigh and opened them. The light over my head flashed and came back on. I wonder why closing my eyes felt safer. 

I sighed. Too much imagination. 

Stepping away from the wall, I stuck my collapsed umbrella out and popped up the canopy and raised the cover of bright cherry blossoms over my head, cutting off the downpour. The street seemed to lighten as the umbrella dimmed the glare from the security light. I turned and started my walk back to the real world at the end of the street. I could see the lights, cars dashing back and forth, people crossing the end of the street, not turning down this long dark one. The sounds of horns were faint but grew louder as I approached the intersection. 

Didn't seem to matter much now if I was a success or failure. I was the only one who knew the truth. Others might surmise but smiles hide many things. If you looked happy, people believed you were. If you looked successful, people believed you were. You had to walk down cold, wet, dark streets to know for sure. Most people never make that trip. They don't want to know. I was a rebel, I suppose. My laughter echoed against the buildings, a laughing audience mocking me. Well, them's the breaks. 

I stepped from the dark alley, onto the brighly lit sidewalk of the boulevard, the lights reflecting around me from the rain like a pagent catwalk, as if someone wanted to make me feel special. Maybe I was. I smiled.

Question of the Day -- #2

How did I spend last evening?

Funny you should ask. I spent it looking at an old group site I used to belong to about Marie Antoinette. I was in the group for about 2 years and only because I had an invite from the moderator, who adored MA and thought my writing my views would lend interest to the group. I, of course, could care less about her. As I read my old posts, I had to laugh. I brought more than interest. It was sheer controversy and chaos. I was roasted more than once, one fan actually threatened me, called me lots of really nasty names, made aspersions about my intelligence (and lack of), and sent me emails. I actually filed a complaint about the latter. He hated me. However, there were several who actually liked what I was doing and played along. They didn't agree with me but they had a blast arguing their points. Nasty boy's behavior actually got me more interest. And most members were respectful. I was very disrespectful to their Queen, who I felt was more or less unimportant to history. They, of course, felt she was the be all and end all of Queens. As for the moderator who invited me, it was the best two years of his life in that group. He raved about it.

It was actually fun to read over that stuff. It dealt with the history of the French Revolution, and the life and death of MA, and her impact on society. I read over all of it and some of it was amusing. I was deliberately controversial and it showed. I swear it was nearly a cult but there were some really wonderful folks I connected with and I had such fun doing it.

One lovely thing that happened to me while I read was that I realized that I'm a really good writer. I know! I was a bit surprised at it, too.  But there was some truly great post I produced during that period. And these were done on the fly in a forum. No time for editing and research. I did do research but usually when I wasn't on the boards and really, the group was quite knowledgeable. They lived and breathed the French Revolution and MA. I knew next to nothing. So, it was quite nice to see I am better than I generally think I am. Maybe I should go and copy those posts and save them? 

Tracking down my own posts was not easy. I wasted hours on that pursuit. I looked at the stats for the board. During my time on that board the post shot up to over 700 in one month. Generally, for the whole two years, it fluctuated from about 150-400. Before and since I left they average around 25 and this year, less than 20. It just proves that when you challenge people's thinking, they actually start to think... they may never agree but at least they think and respond. 

So, that's how I spent my evening. And I enjoyed it. I left the forum smiling, thinking about rejoining, deciding that the time has passed, and wondering what happened to the group I interacted with. Their names do not appear much after I left and in the last several years of posting, not at all. When I look at all those posts and realized I probably generated the activity, it is kind of ... well, I feel pretty good about it. That was cool.

Question of the Day - #1

If no one ever read your blog or knew that it existed, would you continue to write? Ran across this somewhere in a list of things to blog about. It interested me only in that I've had this thought before.

I started blogging so long ago I can't even remember the year. If you want to know you can go back to the first posts. Oh, never mind. It was 2005. I looked. 

I called it something else back then. The name isn't the only thing that changed. I did, too. I'm not sure who I was back then but certainly I'm very different now.

I don't really know why I originally started blogging. I think I had some notion I'd become famous. Laughable now but there it is. We all crave fame at some point. Then we grow up. Actually, we watch the news and see what happens to the famous and realize it isn't all it's cracked up to be.

For the most part, it is a silly blog filled of things I was experiencing and thinking. Probably not a good format for a blog if you're wanting to be famous... and read. I considered revamping and restructuring. I've change the layout a few times, added things, removed things, and changed the name once. Still, it is pretty much the same kind of blog - a recitation of all that I go through. And honestly, that's got to be useless to everyone. I doubt anyone knows I'm here. Or if they do, they quickly forget. 

More recently I studied the "branding", "marketing", platform stuff and found those are fancy names for work. Decided I wasn't interested. 

I actually enjoy blogging, even if no one reads it. So why would I stop? If it hurt me, say like dropping a hammer on my foot, I might not be so eager but it doesn't hurt. It is actually a kind of nice feeling when I get a post done and sometimes, when it is actually a good post, it is a great feeling. And if someone comments... well, that's euphoria. And if it cost me something I might stop but it's one of the few things in life that is actually free. That's so rare that I have no intention of giving it up. Unless they start charging. 

I suppose the answer is that yes, I'd continue blogging. I have done for over 10 years and two attempts on Yahoo 360 & Multiply - both of which sunk. My Blogger site has endured.  So, until something changes to make it a negative experience, I'll continue. Even if you or anyone else never reads it.