Something about Nothing

If you ask me what this writing will be about, I have to say honestly, I don't know. Is there a goal, a purpose, at least some kind of meaningful seed here? I don't know that either. I really don't have an idea as to what this might turn into. Some things are about nothing. Okay, some somethings start as nothing and grow into something, but A work in progress is just that, a work in progress. It grows as it is created, but it starts as so tiny a thing that it lies without concrete definition. Ernest Hemingway said, "All first drafts are excrement."

A single life isn't exactly as raw as a newborn manuscript, but as with anything, it can always be reworked, improved, and built upon. I'm ready to grow.

I'm now in my forties. What do you do when you reach the forties? Some people boo-hoo it all the way to 50. Some people might look back and say, "Why didn't I do this or that?" or "Why did I do this or that or How can I regain my youth?"

In my forties, I can honestly say that my only regret is youth's ignorance. My husband, wonder-guy that he is, had a saying that left ignorance in some sort of stupor state. "There is a difference between stupid and ignorant. Ignorance is is temporary. Stupid is forever." So... I learned I had promise. I wasn't stupid.

So what is it I want? I want to accomplish excellence. Is that possible? I figure if I can discover I'm a writer by the time I turn 40, then nearing 50 must hold more hidden secrets. How does one discover one's true potential? I think there are clues along the way. I mean just look at this letter to Santa penned when I was four. The clue that I had would keep a home was there, as was the clue that I had a way with words.

"Dear Santa,

"Please bring me a carriage and a stroller and bring me more presents. Bring my dolly pajamas, a sink, a stove, a refrigerator, a telephone, records, sugar, coffee pot, cups, a wash cloth and a towel, paper, pencil, pocketbook, can of soup, potatoes, a pan, ashtray, a toy snake, clock, ring, cupboard, cereal, Easter Basket, bubble bath, too, a high chair. Goodbye."

I think I thought I was going to go into housekeeping, and I did...eventually. As for the ash tray in the sixties, smoking was everywhere in New York, on the television, billboards, and I was an impressionable sort, even growing up as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Coffee and ashtrays were for guests, and I liked to entertain the idea of growing up and having many friends and grown up tea parties.

So excellence, that's what I'd like, simply to become the best me I can be. I don't know what that means yet. but I thought I would write this little book of accountability and see what I glean from it. This is my personal journey to excellence and Day One starts tomorrow.