'Cause I don't understand these people
Sayin' the hill's too steep
Well, they talk and talk forever
But they'll just never climb
- The Frames, "Star Star"
* * *
I talk too much. It is the worst of me. I talk too much because I am good at it. I string words along like melodies and it can sound so good, and it can be good, but I talk too much and it is no good for me. There's a small signal fire in my brain that warns I've veered off the path of doing and fallen into the trap of talking. I think writers can be afflicted worse than others because we don't live with things, but with words, the sounds of words, plain, ordinary, dumb as dirt words and we test out ways to make them shine. We talk. I talk. And all too much.
* * *
Here's the answer to the riddle: do. In order to be, do. Unfuck yourself by doing rather than talking about doing and if your doing is talking, then have at it, but nothing in this world matters except for the experience of doing something with the time you have. When we are wounded - and make no mistake you will be wounded - the obvious answer is to blame the one(s) who've hurt us for the paltriness of our lives. We freeze in the moment and can only see our hurt, our betrayal, our shitty start, the inequity of circumstance. But it is all wretch and no vomit. We remain stuck in the unique misery of that moment, never really moving past it, keeping the wound fresh because it is through that wounding we have an identity: victim. And to anyone within earshot we'll talk and talk about how steep the hill is.
You know you've done it. I know I have.
Now let go of it. It doesn't serve you well.
Of course, you and I, we can't help but talk of the trials we encounter. It is wildly healthy to do so. It can provide some perspective and a foot up the ass to get going. The real crisis occurs when we stay there - cenobitic in our devotion to our pain. If talk does not lead to action it is sound and fury signifying nothing, a tale told by an idiot and you know it in the heartroot deep of your core. You see, we all have these signal fires, annoying pricks of conscience, red flags and alarms that go off when we take ourselves away from the vital living of our lives. Call it what you like - soul, spirit, God, self - it doesn't matter. What matters is that you must answer its call. Our lives are but brief candles. Will you burn yours out waiting for a brighter light, a more handsome wick, less smoke, more heat? The circumstances of your life are as they are. It is your response to those circumstances that matters. It is what you do with the facts of your life that define you. It is in the doing that your life catches hold of its meaning.
Talking about the hill won't climb it, and the only reason the hill is there is for you to climb.
* * *
Keep this in mind: you are it. You are the answer. You always have been. You always will be. If you act out of the deepest well of your soul you will climb this hill. You will learn and experience all you need to make the climb. And then there will be another hill beyond that and you'll have to figure out how to climb that one. Each moment of your life is a different hill, a different chance to become who you are in the deep down heart of it all. Don't look to be done with your climbing. Mastery is not the cessation of work, but the love of it.
* * *