And so it is August. As I sit comfortably inside the air conditioned house on a warm muggy evening I hear the muffled symphony of chirping crickets. Which reminds me of a minor confession I must get off my chest sometime before Summer comes to a close.

However, it also reminds me of a metaphor that can be applied to this blog. It has been over a month since my last post, and I can hear the faint chirping from the wireless router sitting in my living room. Truth is I have hardly been on a computer for the last month. It has been refreshing really. Perhaps God is demonstrating what an idol it had become up to this point in time. I am not claiming to be busier than any others in cyberspace who find time to blog, and do so with much more regularity. Things have been crazier than usual and something had to get cut out of the picture.

So I apologize to the fives and tens of you who take time to read this blog that I have not been faithful in updating of late. I have continued to jot things down in the Moleskine, and this very busy season soon will pass as the dawn of college football approaches (not that college football has anything to do with me being busy– it doesn’t). Gabe continues to baffle and humor me with his conversations, and I do not expect to run out of any confessions in the near future.

I am disappointed with my lack of writing of late, and I summed it up in a recent Twitter post by posing this question: If the things I enjoy doing don’t seem to be the things I naturally find myself doing, do I really enjoy doing them? I have struggled with this conundrum much of my life. As a child I remember loving to draw, and I don’t just mean coloring books, but really drawing– causing the physical world to come alive on paper with pencil. Soon I found myself choosing not to draw, and soon found it to be something of a tedious task the older (and better) I got. So much so that by the time I was in college it took the requirement of architecture classes to fuel the passion of composing. It was something dreaded when an assignment came, and the amount of wrangling and procrastination was eventually overthrown by a deadline with a grade attached to it. The dilemma my mind waged against was the fact I loved the process once I finally got over the large task of actually beginning the process. This all culminated by spending 96 contiguous hours composing a 26 foot long 1/16″ scale cross-section with corresponding axonometrics for my final diploma project.

I find writing is much the same for me illiciting similar responses dueling within. I find I enjoy it, but it is a tedious task. The effort I know I must expend to get a result I want often prevents me from ever starting the task itself I enjoy. So when I get busy, the things I enjoy pursuing, which may be the things I need to effort most, fall away…. or I am bi-polar with tinges of obsessive compulsive disorder.


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