Why bother?

No, seriously. I mean it. Why bother?

I know I’m not the only one who has that cross their mind. Particularly, of late. There’s more of you in this world, I know it. I watch the news, here and there.

Motivation is fickle. Fickle AF, as the kids say. And each day it seems as if the world around us doesn’t make you weep and ache, it certainly gets a shake out of a head or two, or a few billion. Our addictions are far greater movers in both personal life and society. Especially when you consider the acceptable kinds into the genre. Work, caffeine, sloth, entertainment, exercise, tech, automobiles and scores more things- all making junkies of the Western world and beyond. All A-Okay and such. Stamp of approval.

Some might even say the merits lay greater in society’s ‘unacceptable’ vices, for honesty of what they are.

But anyway.

We missed last week. Well, I missed it. I got a few hundred words down, stopped, walked away, got my yearly day of being sick- and then when the time came, the mood was gone. I can be like that. Not the best of habits.

Wah.

Blah.

Excuses.

Call the ‘wah’mbulance. Laugh sign lights up.

So, the dog didn’t eat my homework. I just didn’t do it. Something I’ve said to many folks, in many ways, even from a wee age.

Yet this, right here. This is one of my vices. A habit that I cannot let go of. For if I could, I would have. I think. I suppose I always could. It’s more a ‘won’t’ thing.

Yet each week I will sit here and wonder about why I bother trying to say anything at all. And trust me, I know. This ain’t making it to Buzzfeed.

And part of the answer as to why is that I can’t stop. For the better part of three-quarters this past decade, I have regularly convinced myself that it is a good idea to ramble in the public sphere for potentially anyone to see. Though most don’t see these. Out of the however many billion people live on this planet, the percentage that have witnessed these weekly events would not even measure on any scale or survey that would serve any purpose in actual measurement. Statistically negligible, as the economics types say.

Yet here I, and this… and you, somehow, be.

It is cathartic. But so could writing to myself.

Must be something more. And I do know this. My attention span only holds the ability for genuine motivation. Once, sure, I could dance around that which bored me, or even infuriated me. That is no longer.

But that is not unique to me. Motivation is best served genuine because what motivates us is one of the most unique things we can possess. Even those that share the same place in the same moment in time will be pushed forward from that point in different ways. Not needing to be opposite. Just not the same. And that can go from tragedy, to romance, to comedy, to horror.

And sure, just like this, when you put anything we know and love and hold dear in perspective with the larger universe it becomes meaningless. But to hell with that. Some of the best people I know are statistically negligible.

And inversely, holding witness to a world force-filled with artificial gusto churns the bitter, petty, angry, spiteful and almost seeming hateful parts up inside. The seeming endless slew of shit. A life coach is not a real fucking thing you can be. You’re an aerobics instructor with an Instagram that floods servers with faux-inspirational equivalent of the advertisements on pornography websites. And an endorphins addiction, most likely.

Poor bastards. It’s as though they don’t know how wonderful a well-placed ice cream, whiskey or nap can be.

That is not to promote gluttont. Remember, no matter how big you get, someone has to move your dead body. Don’t be a dick about it, please.

This seeming brashness of tone is not in place for shock factor. It just whatever keeps me doing these, also tends to keep me honest. And eventually, dying is the last honest thing we all do in this world. It would be nice if everyone got such a moment to be in a not horrible, to even possibly good situation as a finale. I don’t think anyone could argue that is the case. Most would say such would be impossible.

But for all the horror- phony, real or otherwise- most of us still got up today. And good, goddamnit- some of us are even still trying for better things and to be better people. Some of these crazy bastards still chase their dreams. Bananas, I know. But it’s true. I know some of those kinds of lunatics.

One quit her job and started a photography business that has yet to cease growing and developing whilst still being immensely personal.

A dude who has always and continued to work hard, smart and creative and will be doing what he loves in a situation that also involves puppets. That’s right. Puppets.

I know a charity that started as a way for one person to deal with the heartbreak of loss and by ten years will be bigger than any of us could have imagined. Which is crazy to think, since after five it has already blow far past anyone’s expectations. And all starting from the biggest heart of any human I’ve met.

I know this one cat who through sheer will power and gusto (now matured to quite a swagger) has not only continued to push himself creatively day after day, year after year- but is able to bring forth such boldness in others. Myself included. All since being unlikely to stay alive very long as a baby.

I know a girl who is traveling the world. With open eyes and a likewise heart. She also loves to dance.

The privilege and pleasure is mine to know these folks. May be yours to. And many, many others. It is motivation that they all share. Not constant and each unique to the self they call their own. But it is real. I can spot the fake stuff. Quicker now with the longer I’ve lived.

So, you ask, how does that validate any of this that I am doing, or have done or still might do? Why do I bother? With this, or much of anything else I do? Other than I have quite obviously become mentally dependent on this and all the other eccentricities I possess.

Well. Those people I mentioned before? Some way, somehow, those folks have been influenced in varying sizes by these weekly rants. And some other thing about me. And just me being the self that I am.

Wild, I know. But it’s true. Some have even told me so. And if doing this can give something to them, as what they do can do for me- then I suppose we must go onward. And upward.

None of this is permanent. Those who are, won’t always be and those who ain’t, might someday. We go with what we got. Until it gets you somewhere else.

So.

Why bother?

Because I can.

I want to.

And there are even a few other people who think I can and should, though statistically negligible they may be. If more come, so be it. For now, the motivation to keep at it outweighs the reasons to stop.

And that is, specifically, just vague enough to work.