So I want to be a writer, but I keep telling myself that I am too busy being a 21-year-old cliché of a human being instead. Then the other day I had a thought. What if I was both? What if I could coalesce my constant combination of self-doubt/inspection/loathing with the process of writing on a semi-regular basis?
Well, it would have to start with a cliché. I know! Another verbal promise to myself that this will be the Year that everything changes; that today is the first day of the rest of my life and that tomorrow I will run another mile and read another book and write another something, the same way I did today. Another promise that I’m going to make a real change in my life.
A New Year’s Resolution.
This isn’t a new process for me. I have used the New Year as an excuse before to make significant changes in my life to varying degrees of success. In 2011, I (successfully) became a vegetarian for 365 days. In 2012, I pretended to be a marathon runner, an act that concluded in March with a surprisingly successful 9 mile run and the realization that after all that work, I would have to run those 9 miles TWO MORE TIMES.
(I have never run a marathon.)
The tradition of making a New Year’s Resolution has always bothered me. Why can’t we start a resolution everyday of our lives? “January 1st” is just an arbitrary word and number ascribed to another sun rising and setting on our existence. I think it has to do with the way that we process time in our minds; but while I recognize this book-ending of 365 day periods as a construct of society, I cannot deny that this frame seems to provide some of us (my vegetarian self included) with a fresh slate on which to build our lives into something closer to our ideal image of them.
One Year. Twelve Months. Three-Hundred-and-Sixty-Five Days.
Those are the boundaries that we operate within, and in them, we see the potential for progress. It can’t happen in one day, but it needs to happen.
Because I want to be a writer.
There isn’t exactly a set goal for this resolution of mine in terms of content. I’m not going to tell myself that I am going to write everyday for the entire year and create new content with great ideas that are going to change the world. Because then, I would miss a day, let’s call it Thursday, and I would decide that after I missed one day the whole process was ruined as an excuse to once again retreat from writing altogether to protect myself from further self-criticisms. Plus, Rembert Browne already did that; I don’t want to be like Rembert.
That’s a lie. I want to be exactly like Rembert. I want to work for Grantland and make people laugh by comparing 2 Chainz to the Huxtables and the cast of Pretty Little Liars to the cast of Making the Band. I want to be like Chuck Klosterman and Bill Simmons and Robert M. Pirsig and Chris Ryan and Alex Pappademas and Zach Dionne and Mike Birbiglia and Andy Greenwald and Philip K. Dick and Ayn Rand and Donald Glover and John Mulaney and more and more and more names.
So maybe I’ll do what Rembert did. I’ll start a blog on New Year’s Day, 2013, at the tender age of 21. And maybe you, hypothetical reader of this article, will be amused by my musings, distracted by my distractions. Maybe I’ll list off my rants on pop culture, gambling, the public/private lives of athletes and movie stars, college, and quarter-life-crises’, and maybe you’ll read them. Oh man, it would be cool if you read them.
Maybe I’ll be entertaining and consistent and in less than a year, I’ll be working for/with my current idols at Grantland.com and Vulture.com and other sites where this is a real thing.
Maybe I’ll write here. Maybe I won’t. I hope I do.
I want to be a writer.
That’s my resolution. If I can accomplish that, I believe that everything else can fall into place. And that is a huge “everything else”. But that’s also exactly what it is- “everything else”.
Because besides “everything else” there is one thing.
I want to be a writer.