[This one was a big deal for me.]

I’m a writer who doesn’t write. I talk a good game, but, ultimately, I’m so paralyzed by the thought of rejection that, in the end, I fail to begin. Or, worse, fail to finish.

I say “worse” because many of my ideas start out pretty good, but I don’t do a good job of serving the muse, and either lose interest, or don’t finish the work in a way that does justice to the good idea with which I began. Occasionally I complete something, and I am somewhat shocked at how much I like it. Those times are few and far between, however, and I have begun and left unfinished quite a number of pieces. There are still a few ideas drifting around in my head that are quite striking to me in their originality, by which I mean it surprises me that they came from me. Nevertheless, I hope that someday one or two of them might take shape, or be so powerful that I can’t hold them in any longer.

I’ve said many times in my dealings with others, especially in work situations, that I only know two things: words and people. After a career spent as an actor that lasted two decades and included about two weeks of actual work, I’ve come to realize that people are the most interesting thing about this planet on which we live, and studying, watching, and wondering about people occupies about 90% of my life. The other 10% involves commenting on those people, or figuring out words to use in order to get them to do what I need them to do. I’m not certain what this says about me; I only know that it is what I do, and how I approach the world. If I could find some job that entailed studying people and detailing my observations via the written word, then I would cease to work and merely function in my chosen vocation at last.

I’ve struggled to find some work activity that both paid the bills and didn’t cause me to want to strangle someone and have yet to find something that did both. Finding something that pays the bills is relatively straight-forward, though hardly what I’d call “easy.” As for discovering  an occupation in which I didn’t want to strangle someone, well, let’s just say that’s been a bit more elusive. Whether it was selling Volvos and barely suppressing the urge to strangle Sharon (her real name) when she bounced back and forth between my dealership and another nearby over what amounted to about a hundred dollars on a deal that would have paid me about fifty bucks, or leading a mixed group of fourth-graders on a merry dash through every subject while avoiding the near-obsessive need to throttle Alex H. when he reacted to any negative response or situation by falling to the floor in a near-catatonic state that was a picture-perfect example of the immovable object, or even the completely-obnoxious and desperately-in-need-of-choking Tom Gorman (that is his real name, the fucker), a salesman who insisted on bringing every other person in the company in on fixing a problem that he created, it’s been a constant challenge staying out of the state pen. Somehow, though, I have managed to remain free.

Believe me when I tell you that I know I sound like a whiner, but I just can’t help it. After living my dream job of being an actor for a good number of years, and enjoying not only a bit of critical recognition and some financial success, I miss the job of being an actor more than even I had expected. The satisfaction of working on bringing a character to life as a performer, especially on the stage in a live performance, is unparalleled. There is simply nothing else like it. To be on stage, and be able to hear members of the audience breathing, or chuckling, or laughing out loud, or even sob on several occasions…well, there is just nothing to describe the feeling that you caused that reaction. When you deliver a really good line with perfect timing and inflection and the audience roars with laughter, you experience such a feeling of euphoria that you believe in that moment that you could conquer the world. Similarly, when something you do on that stage causes a grizzled Vietnam vet to stand up and run from the auditorium in tears, you understand why you are on this planet to begin with, and it moves you in ways you didn’t think you could be moved. When a group buys out the entire house for a performance of a play that deals with the spread of an illness that takes the lives of millions of people across the globe, and just about every member of that audience has lost someone to that disease, and the play ends and all you can hear are people crying, that has an impact on you that is almost more than one can stand.

And I miss that. Every day, I miss it like it’s a lost love.

I don’t know why I tell you all of this except to say that I sat down to actually write something, and even finish it. I’m dead-tired from staying up all night waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for a driver working for my company to call and tell me he cannot gain access to a delivery point, or that his truck has broken down and he needs a service vehicle, and I am simply past caring about this job that feeds my family but doesn’t feed my soul.

I know I’m whining, but I just have to believe that there is something better, something that would satisfy this fundamental urge I have to change the world. And I’m not doing enough.

It’s not about being part of the 99% or wanting politicians to stop arguing amongst themselves and just fix something that’s broken or even being overcome by the desire to make a film that really shakes things up and has an effect on those around me.

I just want to matter. I want to have an impact. I have an overwhelming desire to do something important.

And I feel like I’m running out of time.

So I wrote this, just to see if I could start something.