Late Night Journal 09-22-2022

Saskatoon at night

That’s Saskatoon, Canada.

That is one of the settings for the novel I’m working on.

I don’t know whether this is the first time you read me or if you have already read me before, but in either case, I’ll tell you, I’m an engineer (as in computer engineer) who’s taking a big gamble in his life by seriously attempting to become an author.

This blog is a stepping stone, and the story I’m working on is another; I hope you keep reading me and buy my book once it’s out and that you love it, because it’s slowly baked but crafted with much care and dedication.

But maybe, like I often do in these “Late Night Journals” I just want to share a piece of my inner world, maybe vent or just confess my feelings and thoughts full of thorns, that root deeply within me, and pluck them out during my confession.

Fuck man, why do I have to get all fucking poetic when I just want to blog xD

Why are poets typically regarded as silly? I see real power in poetry.

OK in any case, it’s been like ages since I don’t post a late-night entry, what’s going on with me? I’ll tell you what, my life is not a line, but a constellation. One day I will expand on this.

But I want to come back and start doing this more frequently, I need it and it allows me to connect with you. You see, I get lost within myself for seasons, I start exploring things that need fixing, or that need attention, or simply engage in another difficult piece of my grand project which I’ve been working on for over 2 years now and I anticipate will continue until I die.

What’s that project you ask? I won’t spoil it by explaining it, it’s a work in progress and you will see it for yourself when it’s ready, I promise.

I’m listening to Low Roar right now, and believe it or not, that’s the happiest music choice I was able to make at this time of this day specifically. I’ve been a bit blue if I’m to be honest, for no specific reason, just out of being depressive.

I’ve told you Low Roar is one of my favs, haven’t I?

I’ve been thinking about aging and death. I’m 35 but I’m also a very dramatic person with very complicated emotions, in about 1 month I’ll be turning 36 so effectively been 1 year into the second half of my life and that’s just freaking terrifying for me. I’m not shy in confessing that I’m afraid of death, and even with that, I consider myself a stoic and I hold “memento mori” as one of the dear principles that help me appreciate life and live more fully.

Paradoxically, this awareness of the subject of death also combines rather toxically with my oscillating depression. I’ve been listening to a podcast on Carl Jung lately, it’s called “Digital Jung” by Jason E. Smith; if you’re in your 30’s or later I’d seriously recommend it to you:

This show is worth every minute spent listening to it

So listening about the pursuit of meaning and the more reflexive attitude other people adopt around my age kind of calms me down a notch and reassures me I’m not especially damaged. And some of you will say I’m still young and shouldn’t be this concerned with death but here are two things:

  • Being afraid of not living fully; that’s a key concern, more than death itself. Looking back and not being able to be satisfied with my ability to make the most of this ride, to do meaningful things, to be a candle in the dark.
  • Being afraid of actual death: not that I think it hurts or something, I mean, it’s entirely possible that it does depending on how it happens but I’m afraid of letting go, of disappearing, and becoming a memory. I’m afraid of futility because I know life will simply move on, and my importance or impact is very limited, even if I get to be reputable or famous.

So maybe I’m not afraid of death, maybe it’s just the parameters of human existence that anger and hurt me, maybe I’m dealing with pain more than with fear.

Sorry, I told you I was feeling blue.

At any rate, I’m making a huge effort to live through these feelings without resorting to denial. It’s easy to resist the truth, I don’t believe there’s anything easier than to console yourself with a lie.

I also feel like needing alcohol or opiates, or just some powerful distraction. But I’d rather write.

I’d rather double my efforts to actually keep building a life I find meaningful on my own terms, and just throw myself headlong into experiencing it with its struggles and joys, its uncertainties and blessings.

I believe this is not resorting to self-deception, but all the opposite, it’s traveling with eyes wide open. And the old man Josue will regard his 35-year-old version as the architect of a much more acceptable version of death.

“Memento Mori” motherfuckers

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