The title of this blog was originally Stumbler's Paradise, a cute little nonsenical phrase that was meant to illustrate that I knew nothing, but I would stumble upon greatness and be oh so blessed to share it with the world at hand, a. k. a. you, my fourteen readers. (Correction, there are eleven of you, unless there are just some floating in cyberspace that I don't know about.) Let's be honest. That's fairly egotistical, with a pinch of humility, and that humility is swimming in an ocean of ego.
I eventually realized the error of my ways and retitled the blog, what am I on my own? (This is an allusion to the period of my writing where I loved writing complete sentences with no capitalizations (except for references to God), ending in a period. Yes the blog title was a question mark, but that question mark alludes to a period. I'm sure of it. I think.
The burning question right now isn't "what am I on my own?". I know I'm nothing. That's besides the point. I suppose right now the burning question is WHO am I? I suppose my ego has been blinding me, so I'll ask a series of questions, we'll look at the facts, and we'll go from there.
Am I the kid who graduated high school in two years with a 4.6 GPA, and on the side writing loads of poetry and short stories illustrating my love to one of four individuals (depending what point of high school we talk about), participating in theater even though I wasn't there to pursue a career, playing guitar to sate my need of performing that theater somehow couldn't satisfy?
Am I the kid who grew up in small towns of as little as 24 people and as much as 81,000 (technically I was outside of city limits), one who learned to cope with few quality friends that I managed to lose over the years as we all went our separate ways and somehow succeeding in replacing those deep relationships with surface ones that just don't fill the void?
Am I the artist, the guy who can write poetry, play music, direct, act, write novels, et al, seemingly on natural talent even though I cultivate just about none of it on a consistent basis and just kinda skip around until something grows stale and old because when I get right down to it, I can't think of anything burning to share with the world and neither do I feel like I have much to say?
Am I the guy who has suffered doomed relationships through his high school career leading to mistakes in college that I never meant to make, somehow righting everything in the span of four months to jump into the greatest relationship I could ever dream of, while still suffering from the consequences of my past choices?
Am I the counselor who can seemingly give the right advice in the right situation, while struggling in my own friendships and the like because I can't think of the way to fix anything?
Am I the guy who once could speak two languages fluently enough to be confused as a Mexican and an American, but yet the speech therapy has worn off to where my normally crystalline stage voice has been reduced to a blubbering voice that no one can understand anymore?
Am I the guy who feels called to teach religiously in some manner, and yet despite a history of choosing willingly to drop everything and become a missionary in the past, I don't feel like I can really fulfill the role I'm called to, choosing to skip church because I'm avoiding the issue?
Am I the easy going guy who's difficult to get a long with?
Funny thing is, I've had at least two people point out every deficiency above. but I don't know what to do. I feel helpless. Sure, I'm making it, I suppose, but I've spent so long sweeping the dirt under the rug. It's gotten bad enough I can't ignore it anymore, but I still feel so. . . undeserving (Damnit! I hate using that word).
Am I a paradox?
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