Writing Every Day

If you're not embarrassed about something in your past, then you're either an incredibly careful and precocious person, or you're very inwardly-focused. I was formerly the latter (at least I like to think "formerly"), but today I feel a strong sense of resentment for my younger self; mainly, because I despise the qualities I once embodied when I encounter them in people today. I listen to people talk sometimes and I think, "Jesus, did I really sound like this at one point?" and then I remember the parties in high school, the desperate ploys for attention in college, and the clumsy encounters of my early twenties. There can be no embarrassment when you think everything you say is important.

I may be overly hard on myself at times about this issue, but at this point in my life I cannot stand listening to people babble on and on about their achievements, or about an award they won, or about where they graduated from, or how if it weren't for them...blah, blah, blah. Needless to say, that was me for most of my late teens and early twenties. I thought that when I told people something about myself they would inevitably see and admire the person I was describing. If I told them I was good at sports, they would think I was good at sports and nothing more. If I said I was smart and had read many important books, they would without a doubt believe that I had an intellectual mind. They would of course take all of my words at face value, and follow every minute detail I was describing, never for a second straying from the message I was broadcasting, because that's how the world worked for me back then: I talk and you listen.

Little did I know.

Today, when someone talks my ear off about how many trophy bottles they've tasted, or about how they've visited every major winery in Napa, I'm definitely not thinking about what a masterful grasp of wine this person must have. I'm thinking, "How much longer do I have to listen to this guy talk until he shuts up?" But that's not what they think I'm thinking. They think by telling me all of this impressive information that I'm internally wowed by what they have to say—that I'm hanging on every word—just like I believed was the case concerning my own accolades all those years ago. But I'm not impressed, nor is anyone else for that matter. We're just politely waiting for you to finish. That's what people are really thinking when you talk about yourself in that manner. The fact that it took me almost thirty years to realize that is embarrassing.

So when people ask me today, "How do you find the time to write so often?" I say: it just comes naturally. But really what comes naturally is the internal fire that burns inside of me to distance myself from the past. Each post that I write is a chance for me to move beyond the selfish naiveté of my youth and into a more outwardly-focus. It's the reason there are no pictures of me on this blog. It's the reason I don't have a Twitter account or a Facebook page. It's why I so often write about manners, the attitudes on the internet, or terrible conversations I've eavesdropped upon.

I told someone earlier today, "We can never fully mature into adults until we remove whatever chips are on our shoulders." I have a giant chip on mine concerning my past, and it's that weight that motivates me to write this blog every day. I'm hoping that the spotlight my writing ultimately generates will force me to think about my remorse, and that each instance will serve as a reminder of what I am working towards.

Each day I log in and hope I can think of something to say about my personal experiences without the desperate need for validation from others.

Oh, I'm sorry, did you think this was a blog about alcohol? :)

-David Driscoll