Text and Hubris

I find myself facing my own words and that, as any purveyor of text will tell you, is never a good thing.

What do I believe? Most of all, in who do I believe?

Two years ago, I set myself upon a path. At the ripe of old age of 32, I returned to school. My goal, at first, was simply to expand my knowledge and to add to skills I already had. This seemed like a good idea. Sitting still is the fastest way to doom in any industry and that is especially true of the tech industry. I attended class and I took online classes and I excelled. I forgot how good I could be at school.

I also forgot the danger of school. The fact that, if you let it, you will find yourself confronting your own beliefs and re-evaluating where you are going. As I continued to progress along my path, I was forced to face the simple fact that I hate what I do for a living. There is no mistake here. I detest everything about what I do. There is nothing of value in anything that I do and that is pathetic.

I originally chose to work where I do because I love technology. I love the tools of communication that now exist. I love that we have the capacity to create and design new forms of expression in less and less time and that we are always pushing the envelope. I love the wonderful synergy that is developing between the old and new forms. I love being a part of that. I love the creative power of the people who create these products. Best of all, I love the creative opportunities these tools make available to me, personally. I love that I have the opportunity to create in such a vibrant time.

I am a creator not a sustainer. I love words, I love media. The vast creation of all that crap that fills Youtube is both daunting, disgusting, and absolutely wonderful to me. Genre, style, and form is irrelevant. I love it all. I want to be lost in it and to be a part of it.

I sat in a lecture last night for three hours with an incredible instructor. As I sat there I saw my life stretch a long and winding trail filled with rocks and pitfalls both before me and behind me. I saw that I could really do this. I could actually succeed. I could descend into this world and I could succeed. Everything aspect of my heart, body, and soul wants me to.

Yet, I am afraid. I am afraid to let go of where I am. Though every day I come to work is a physical and emotional pain, I am unwilling to let that security go. Those my health has diminished and my weight ballooned (both of these are directly attributable to what I do) I still refuse to leave. I have these voices, these terrible, logical and wise voices, that tell me that I have responsibilities to attend to and that I should not risk poverty for their sake. These voices are strong and well informed. There will be many a hard year were I to leave.

It is here that I face my own words. It is here that I am forced to confront my own statements. Statements in which I believe in, but which I find myself unable to implement. I know that it is better to be poor and doing what I love. I know that a risk now could pay off even better and that if I was able to dedicate myself, 100%, to what I want I would succeed. Beyond that, do I really want to side with those who take the safe path? Those who choose regret over action?

Yet, this is exactly what I am doing.

So, this blog now has a purpose. This is Text and Hubris. This is the last refuge for that part of me that is willing to risk. Here I will chronicle my escape and my reasons for it. If it falls, it means that I have fallen. It means that I have given up and resigned myself to the hell in which I currently live.

May it never fall….