I worry about so many things that I often quote Tom Petty like a mantra: “Most things I worry about never happen anyway.”
Although — I worry about how much I procrastinate. I worry that I have procrastinated most of the way to the grave.
Although — most lives end unfinished. Gone too soon. Of course, when is the right time to declare a life finished? When we euthanized Willow The Best Dog There Is™, the vet said, “Are you ready?” I lied. Of course I wasn’t ready. Death always leaves us unprepared. Denial does that.
Death is the sort of thing that happens to somebody else. You never expect it to drop by, even though it eventually visits everyone.
Mary and I went to someone close’s funeral Thursday, a sweet lady who lived to be 93. I pray I will have a chance to celebrate Mary’s 93rd birthday.
Talk like this inevitably gets me thinking about the various projects I have not yet finished. Over and over again, I have not finished what I have started, and so of course I cannot put it on the market or keep it on the market until it is sold. Mr. Heinlein is smirking at me, or perhaps he is looking on with pity in his eyes.
Somewhere there’s a character like me who has a story to tell for the ages. Will I ever scratch at my psyche deep enough to draw that character out of hiding? I feel like I will know him, or her, when I see him, or her. I think I’m waiting for the words and images to come tumbling out like Fibber McGee’s Closet and line up like dutiful ducks. It does happen sometimes, you know: I sit down to write and bang! The words are there, and I send them to the ether almost in the exact order they tumbled from my pen, and the Likes appear magically at the website and I feel validated.
But the stories — oh, the stories! — I can almost see them and touch them and feel them waiting to be told, and they are so happy that I am here, that someone out there sees and wants to tell them. And here I sit in my comfortable recliner, feet up, dreaming of the day the stories are told and people hold the books and enjoy the adventure and the lessons and the meaning, and it’s as though I’ve already finished.
Mr. Heinlein’s ghost taps me on the shoulder just then, and I can’t turn to face him. I only hear his voice, even though I can’t remember what he sounded like.
“You must finish what you start, young man,” he says, “although I see you are no young man.”
I am only a young man in the cosmic sense, where the cosmos has been there forever and I am just a passing mist. The little boy in me wells up in fear that the next person will ask, “What have you been doing all this time, young man? Have you finished what you started? Let me see.”
Fear makes it worse, of course — fear of never finishing is the prime cause of never finishing. It’s a vicious, vicious circle, and a vicious, vicious fear that circles back and leads me to write about it again.
“I am finished writing about not finishing,” I declare. “I am focused on marching forward to the finish line.”
I’m not lying when I make that declaration. I’m merely mistaken.
“Oh, please, Lord,” I pray like George Bailey on the steel bridge. “Help me finish what I start. I’m stuck on Heinlein’s second rule, and I still have three to go after that. Please, Lord, I want to finish! I want to live! I want my imaginary friends to live!”
Will it start to snow again after I pray? Will Bert and Ernie call out, “Hey George, are you OK?” Will Zuzu’s petals be waiting in my pocket?
There they are. What do you know about that? Merry Christmas.
I should save these images for a day when a story is finished and the book is released. But I’m afraid if I wait for that, the images will never see light of day.
I don’t want to finish this journal session on a downbeat, however. I love happy endings as much as the next guy. So let’s leave me joyously running through Bedford Falls proclaiming that I finished my morning journaling and grateful for another chance.
AFTERTHOUGHT: I refer above to Heinlein’s Rules and Fibber McGee’s Closet, not to mention George Bailey and Zuzu’s petals. How many readers will think, “What the bejeebers?” and how many will appreciate that I respect you enough to get the references? And if you don’t, don’t fret; use your search engine. The info is still out there for now.
