It’s been almost two years since I’ve written anything for this blog. Things got busy. And rough. And frankly, I just forgot.

Which sucks.

Things are finally starting to settle down for our family. But my personal self feels quite a bit out of sorts. Ever since we moved to Texas, I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of “purposelessness”. Like I’m not doing anything that matters. And I want to do something that matters. SomeTHINGS that matter. I don’t mean that I want to produce something. To hell with capitalism and all it’s awfulness. I just want to know that my life will have meant something; that my kids will have good stories to tell their friends and their families when I’m gone.

I think about all the things I wanted to be when I was a kid: a CIA agent, a White House speech writer, a staff writer at Vanity Fair, a backup singer.

I think about all those things and wonder, “Why didn’t I do any of them?”

It’s easy to blame other people, right? I didn’t have ANY guidance counseling in high school and even if I had, it probably wouldn’t have been great (trust me on that). I maybe should have asked my parents if I could go to a different school with more opportunity and more guidance.

But at the end of the day, it’s really just me that’s the problem.

I’m the only one that can decide what it is I want to do with my life.

I thrive within structure and guildines. I like having things mapped out for me, step by step. I could probably rebuild a fighter jet if someone laid out the steps for me. So when it comes to my life, I think I always thought someone would be there to tell me, “If you want to get HERE, these are all the steps that you need to take, in the order you need to take them.” I’m not afraid of doing the work. It’s that I don’t even know where to start.

So that’s where I’m at and part of why I haven’t written in nearly two years. I have nothing of consequence to speak on right now. Because I don’t know who I am or what I want to be.