They say that writers write. Well, I want to be a writer, so, I’ll write.
Not that I’m a terrific writer or anything, but I do have thoughts in my head that rattle around and need to get out. I’ve thought for years that I’ve got a good book trapped somewhere inside this muddled brain of mine, so maybe this is the beginning of that.
I read Jane Heller’s column every day. Her “Confessions of a She-Fan” is delightful. You want a writer? There’s a writer! She writes with such ease. Compared to her I’m a two-bit hack. Ok, I’m always a two-bit hack, but compared to her I’m worse.
The thing is, I like to write. Maybe it’s cathartic or something, I don’t know. I took the obligatory creative writing courses in college, but I never cared about anything I wrote. It was always about Gandalf or Winston Churchill or something like that. It was never anything I really cared about.
After college I got a job at a small-town newspaper that was run by about six people. Somehow, I got my own column and so took the opportunity to write about people in that small town. It was fun. I mean, it was a lot of fun. And people seemed to enjoy it. For the first time in my life I was really writing about something I loved.
Now, thirty years later, I’m a project manager for a Fortune 500 company. Gone are my writing days, except for this blog. Oh, I keep a journal, but it’s not the same.
So, I’ve decided that since it’s the off season, I’m going to write about more than just the Yankees. I love the Yankees and have since I was able to know what baseball was. But there’s only so much you can write about your favorite team, though you love them dearly, in the off season.
I’ve kept a small pad in my pocket the last six or eight months, and at times, during boring meetings, I sit and contemplate my life. Every time I think of something I’d like to write about, I write it down. I’ve filled up about twelve or thirteen pages now, so I think it’s time I sprung a leak in my brain and let some of those ideas drain out.
Over the last 50 years I kept waiting for my life’s great adventure. Maybe it would be some James Bond .007 adventure where I had to save some beautiful woman from certain death.
Or maybe it would be an Indiana Jones-type adventure in which I found some great and lost relic that would alter history.
Or maybe it would be an adventure that would put me on the moon or in a history book or would make some mark on the world.
Little did I know that during those first 50 years, I was living that adventure every day in the small, seemingly irrelevant and mundane activities of every day life.
This is my life’s great adventure, told by the person who actually lived it and wouldn’t change one minute of it.