A Substantial Identity Crisis

(Originally published in 8/16- re-released 12/18)

Judging by my output over the last several weeks, it should be fairly easy to conclude that I haven't had much to say...

You know you are experiencing a formidable dearth of creativity when the most original thing you've done in two and a half months is create a playlist of all songs with the word 'magic' in them. It was a doozy though, with everything and everyone from Olivia Newton John to the Cars.

I've been in a sort of philosophical 'funk' of late. Inspiration has never seemed so far away. Began to think that I might be experiencing some sort of 'mid-life' crisis...Nothing is more hackneyed and clichéd, I know, but how else to explain the fact that the only things I've looked forward to of late was TCM's Summer Under the Stars Movie festival and the fact that Yacht Rock returned to Sirius XM Radio. Even more worrying was the recent trip I paid to my local used book store in which I spent 45 minutes and emerged empty-handed! That's never happened in my personal history. Not Ever....Absolutely Never.

Panicked, I retreated to a local antique store hoping to find some sort of tchotchke or piece of décor to pluck myself from the oblivion I seemed to be inhabiting. It didn't work. I emerged like a sleepwalker from the shop mumbling to myself some gibberish about not wanting 'more clutter' or 'things that would only collect dust'. Alien phrases I've never before heard myself use...

After retreating home to huddle cocoon-like with a cup of tea and a few pieces of verboten Scottish shortbread on my sofa, I proceeded to spend some time staring off into space contemplating my seemingly erratic behavior of late.

What was happening to me? 

I realized that I was tired of the same old, same old.  Nothing substantive. I'm sick of reading magazines in which the only 'meaty' reading was the disclosure page for prescription medicines. They seem to be writing periodicals these days for people with zero attention span. The pages were a hodge podge of 'bites' of articles with no real story with a beginning thesis, supportive documentation and a conclusive ending.   I went into the bookstore looking for a sweeping novel and all I found were breezy pieces of 'chick lit' and for some reason I can't work out, hundreds upon hundreds of books about vampires, zombies and various other assorted stories of the undead. I couldn't even find any of the Louis L'Amour(s) which were so prized by my late great-aunt.

It's as if  I'm in a state of perpetual mourning, (no I'm not really depressed) for more than society is capable of providing. I mourn the lack of civility, manners, the casual dress, the appalling lack of education. In the time period between my last writing on this blog and now, I've been informed that cursive writing is no longer part of the standard curricula in our schools. Upon hearing this, I embarked on a lengthy period of research (nothing thrills me more than doing research) and in several articles I read, I was backed up by several eminent sociologists, many teachers and educators as to the irreparable harm this is doing, but in the midst of my quest for validation, was the far more sobering thought that, "No one cares..." If the parents whose children this is affecting say nothing and thus far, their silence in this case is deafening, then what do I, a parent of none, a childless spinster have to say? I've got no skin in this game. My contemporaries who have school age children argue that "computer skills are more important...and no one writes in cursive these days anyway".

Except well...me...I always write in cursive. Even down to the notes that I write to myself.
So I am once more perhaps, an anachronism in my own time.

Maybe it's foolhardy to be this way, but I find myself unable to deny the fire that burns within me for substance. So in spite of the fact that it is possibly an exercise in futility, I will continue to seek out the elusive well-written sweeping novel, I will keep using 'big words'. I will keep my inner pilot light lit with zeal for the beauty and class of classic movies, for the arts, for music and for the hope that somehow the written word will stand the test of time.