There is only up from here

It's been a while since I've used this blog. I always think to myself: I need to blog, I need to capture my thoughts, I need to chronicle what's happening in my life.

When I was a child, I used to write religiously in a journal of sorts; in an odd way, I knew there would be a time when I would want to revisit those puerile thoughts and feel the nostalgia of my youth - and I was right. Those journals lay quietly in a box below my bed, and from time to time, they emerge from their holding place and are carefully unwrapped, touched, opened and eagerly read.

But as I grew older, into a teenager, and as the excitement of life took hold, the excruciating detailing of my (mundane?) life in a personal memoir became less and less important; less and less necessary. I started to write emails, sending them to my friends - emails which had nothing to do with anything, but everything to do with who I was, who I was becoming. There were replies, which provoked replies, but the truth is, the emails were never meant specifically for any person. I wanted an audience for my thoughts: as facetious, narcissistic and mad as they may have been. I wanted someone - anyone - to understand.

But again, as I grow older, into a man, and the excitement of life continues to take hold, the sometimes painful detailing of my (thrilling?) life becomes more and more important; more and more necessary - for my own, personal reflection. I tell myself I would write in this blog more frequently; but procrastinating tendencies - and sheer laziness - stop me from putting finger to blog, and, instead, I find myself whipping through the pages of Facebook, excitedly noting the updates in my newsfeed, or thinking up interesting things to plot in my status.

I am at a low-point in my life. I'm losing friends at an alarming rate; I'm taking ambien to fall asleep often; I'm struggling with my Finance course to complete my MBA for the past year; I'm disappointedly discovering that within my local Jewish community, egos and desperate attempts to secure recognition are dividing the community and keeping it from fulfilling its truest potential.

I am at a low-point in my life.

I know what I need to do: I need to re-think my strategies, my priorities, my goals. I need to re-dedicate myself to my purpose which I have forgotten as the excitement of life takes hold and the hopeful goals I secretly wish to achieve are overshadowed by my mundane problems, worries, and everyday, unnecessary concerns.

Where is the boy who struggled for God? Who struggled to find meaning in life? Who yearned for more? Who was supposed to grow into a man much different from the one who exists today?

Is it ever too late?

No.

It never is.

I am an optimist, wrapped up in a pessimist, but an optimist nevertheless.

I believe that everything happens for a reason; that the universe presents us with ample, abundant opportunities which we must grasp at, embrace, and use to achieve our aims.

The fact of the matter is I've failed. I don't pray the way I used to; I don't read the way I used to; I don't think about God, my guardian angel, my Judaism the way I used to. The distractions have gotten in the way: television, Facebook, liming, drinking, ambien, smoking, friends.

I'm at a low-point in my life.

I forgotten what's important. I've forgotten what I've wanted to accomplish; to discover; to be.

I am at a low-point in my life, but the only place to go is up.

I need to recognize the offer the universe makes me to on a daily basis; the choice is mine, the change is within me.

This is my attempt to chronicle my thoughts from this point, this terrifying low-point, and allow my God to pull me back up. In writing I feel cleansed, and in writing, I feel happy. In writing I will record my thoughts and analyze the pattern of change.

In writing I will break this cycle.

In the morning I will pray. In the morning, I will open my siddur. In the morning, I will study my Hebrew verbs. I know that change never comes in the morning - it comes now. The wise, Jewish sages of yesteryear were wise in discerning that the beginning comes at dusk: at the darkest hour. The change doesn't come in the morning, although we go to bed thinking that it will; the change starts from before - it starts from now. This is why I'm writing this now - to remind myself, to prod myself, to give myself hope. This is a poignant time to make this change: the night sky shines through my open window - the seducing slant of the almost full-moon light pouring onto my bed.

A new cycle begins with the waxing of the moon, and at 4:28PM today, it will reach it's maximum potential and begin anew.

And so will I.

The complacency which has besieged me must go, and the only person to expel it from my life is me; the new cycle starts from here.

I will commit myself to being better - whatever that may mean, however I may interpret that to be.

I will find the strength, determination and grit to realign myself with my already-discovered purpose. So I went off-course a bit for the past couple years - so what? It's never too late.

Be the change that you want to be... or something to that effect.

There is only up from here.

I'll have to start at the beginning

You know those movies that begin somewhere near the end? I'm talking about those movies which show, at their earliest stages, a teeny tiny of clip of some time-period near the ending of the movie, and then the title character jumps in and gives a little synopsis of what's going on, and then says, "But to make you understand where I'm at now, I'll have to start at the beginning... the very beginning", and then the movie really begins, taking the viewer back to when the principal character being born, and how life shaped the character to be what he/she is, etc., etc. I'm sure you know exactly the kind of movie I mean!

Well, that's what this post is going to be like. My first blog - the first of (I hope!) many. But, I am starting this blog in the middle of my life, after much has happened and exploded to shape me into the Nick I am today. So, like the character in any cliche movie which follows the plot I outlined above, I have to hold your hand and ask that you let me take you back in order for you to understand how it is I came to be here tonight and why it is important for me to jump (admittedly, quite late!) on this bandwagon of blogging.

I won't take you too far back - not way back to when, as a baby, my dad would put me on his chest and I would fall asleep, and I won't bore you about the blackberries my mom and I would pick on the side of the road as she walked me to school in the sleepy town of Colchester, England where I was born. No, I'll only go back to six years ago, when I first signed up for this space on blogspot.com, back when, I suppose, Julie Powell had first started writing her own now-famous blog.

The thing is, although I'd come up with the idea that I wanted a blog, I wasn't sure what to put in a blog. Being a Cancer, I can be quite secretive and coy about my life, so I wasn't (and still am not sure) if I wanted to detail my life in a blog - and to be perfectly frank, I felt as if what I wanted to say really wasn't worth anything in the grand scheme of things. And perhaps, I really didn't have anything worthwhile to say. Although I was at that ripe old age of 21, and I'd been exposed to a lot, I still hadn't found my place in the world. I didn't know who I was. Not really. I'm the kind of person who believes that life is more than just a series of unfortunate (and sometimes deliciously fortunate! Sorry Mr. Snickett!) events. I believe that everything happens for a reason, and I think... no, I know that there was a reason I wasn't able to fill even one post on this blog before tonight. Don't get me wrong, I do have many unfinished posts that are saved in my drafts folder of this blog site. I just really never had the ability/motivation/capacity/fate-on-my-side to finish a single one of those posts. But, I'm no longer 21. I'm 27 - ancient and old that I am, and I've recently found myself being able to write pieces that have substance, that have emotion; pieces that have resonance and meaning and the possibility of impact. And, most importantly, I have the capacity to actually finish a post. I think that Life is ready for me to fill the annals of my blog with posts.

Recently  I've realized (and it has been quite a strong realization) that writing is the career path I want to take. Oh, I'm not naive enough to think that writing would ever afford me the life I  want to live, but more than anything under the sun, I have the most fire-hot passion for writing. I know I'll never be a JK Rowling, and so, I know I must pursue a simultaneous career in some more lucrative field than this business of writing, but the fact is this: I have realized that no matter what, I want to be a writer. And, thus, in the past couple years, I've started writing mini-articles and sending them off to people saved in the address-book of my Gmail account. Surprisingly, a whole lot of the things I was writing and intrusively sending out was being received positively by the various friends, family, and assorted acquaintances I sent them to. For me, it was a wonderful validation.

You see, in 2005, thanks in part to the mentoring of the now deceased author, Mr. Harry Preston, I managed to complete a 240,000 word manuscript and was coasting high on the personal satisfaction of having been able to accomplish something so personally fulfilling. Of course, when one writes a manuscript, one expects the natural second step would be, of course, publication. But for those of you wonderful people who are reading my blog and have had your own experiences in the dauntingly scary world of publishing, you'd know that life in the publication lane is anything but simple. Writing encompasses a helluva lot more than simply... writing. It involves literary agents, and lawyers, and contracts, and negotiations, and editing, and changing content, and more politics than I was possibly able to stomach at that  young age. I sent out query letters to numerous literary  agents - and, while I did receive some positive feedback, the general was consensus was: "Not interested.Sorry." Oh, but I'd be a lying self-piteous sonofabitch if I didn't tell you that I did receive positive feedback. Yes, siree, I did. I was advised to edit down, much in the way Tim Gunn would suggest his Project Runway proteges do (apparently, 240K words is simply much too much for a first-time hopeful-author to publish!). What's it that Tim says? "Edit, edit, edit!" Unfortunately for me, I am the  most loquacious person I know, and while my scholastic life has validated my language skills (sorry for boldfacedly tooting my own horn, but I did receive the highest grades in my high school for English, English Literature and Cambrige GCE Advanced Levels General Paper, thank you very much. Trust me, intellectually speaking, I am no Einstein, no Shakespeare, and will probably never make any sort of lasting mark on this world, so please indulge me by not judging me for being proud of my little accomplishment!), I cannot for the life of me summarize. Just as some people simply do not have the abilities to sing, or do math, or stay slim and trim without afflicting themselves with diets and exercise (I, too, possess none of virtues), I simply cannot, not even if you offered me the world on a silver platter, I cannot summarize. But I did try - I honestly did. And, somehow or the other, I managed to cut it down to 204,000 words. It wrenched my very soul to eliminate each of those 36,000 words, but I did it. I sucked in my pain, and I deleted. Yet, it still was not enough. Then, there was the added problem of the content of my book not being "marketable. The content, while well-written, humorous, and intriguing, will not generate sales and buzz," one lit agent told me. The thing is, being declined by hundreds of lit agents does a lot to shake a person's self-esteem, and, eventually, I gave up my hope of having my manuscript see the light of the NY Times Bestseller's List (yes, I really was that naive, conceited and hopeful), and so, into a folder in My Documents, I've packed away that first-child manuscript I gave birth to, and, for five years, was quite celibate when it came to writing. My ego had been shattered, and it has taken five long years for me to think to myself: "Perhaps I can?"

I don't know. Perhaps.

Recuperation is a process. What do they say in AA? One day a time? Baby steps? Right - that's the tune I'm whistling. I've started writing blog-like emails, sending them to the people I know, and with every bit of positive feedback I receive, the spark for writing is  being reignited in my soul. I know you're probably thinking "Why does anyone need anyone else to validate them?", but I'm the type of person who craves/needs/desperately seeks validation in everything I do before I can proceed. I can totally identify with that line Grace Adler once said on Will & Grace, "How will I know if I like myself if they don't like me?!" You know the quote I mean! But that's just like me - I don't know if I'm good, unless someone else says it.

However, I do have a love for writing - and whether I'm good or not, there is nothing more fun or fulfilling to me than sitting in front of my computer screen, tapping away at my computer, just writing something for the sake of writing. True, being sometimes vapid (cause come on - who isn't vapid from time to time?), my choice of writing topics can be sometimes... well, vapid. But it gives me great joy to write my vapid and not-so-vapid pieces and feel so content and satisfied with myself for being able to get my thoughts on virtual paper.

And so, we arrive at this point in the movie; back at the place where the movie started and where it all ties in: I'm back at the start of this post, and I hope you understand why I'm here. I'm here because I love to write - and, if someone happens to tell me they like my  writing, well, that's just icing on the cake that is my self-esteem :) Perhaps one day I will start on a story again. But for now, I have this blog, and I hope that I can find solace in here, in being able to pour my thoughts, fears, hopes and dreams into this site, and perhaps, hopefully, re-gain the courage to write another 240K manuscript; a manuscript which would make it through the publishing obstacle course and manage to cross the finish line of the New York Bestselling List :)