Rising from the ashes.

 It has been four years since my last post on this blog, the blog that began my journey back in 2008 down the rabbit hole that is the blogosphere. It seemed time for it to make another appearance.

I'm not yet sure what I will devote these "pages" to. Unlike my other blog, My Wordsmithing, which is devoted to my songwriting, I began this blog to talk about whatever was on my mind, some of which I expected to hit as if it had come from out of left field. Hence the blog's title.

My goal is to keep the subject matter somewhat eclectic. So readers (if there are any) can expect to find the occasional book review, samples of my meager attempts at poetry, discussion of news articles I find interesting, and so on.

I will try to be disciplined enough to post two to three times a week, but we will see how far that intention carries me. Some posts will likely be short; others may have more meat on the bones, as it were. Hopefully, none of them will be too boring or tedious.

I hope you will come join me on this new or resumed blogging journey. I suspect there will be plenty to see From Out of Left Field.

#227 - Struggling With Myself

Sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones you wage with yourself. For instance, at the moment, I am fighting over myself concerning just what it is I bring to the world's table. On days like this, I'm not so sure.

For instance . . . for years, I have called myself a writer or a would-be writer or a writer wannabe. The fact is, I really none of those. I can write and well. But I lack both the passion and the discipline to be a writer.

In college, I dabbled in writing poetry. I also wrote a novella. A bad novella, but a novella nonetheless. I have also written lyrics for somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,500 songs, roughly 50 of which have actually been put to music because I also lack the discipline and determination to learn any musical instrument well enough to be able to do my arrangements or write the music for any of my songs, many of which do have melodies bouncing around in my head.

I know in my heart that few people read anything I write or value any opinion I might have or any advice I might give. This blog, which was meant to be a continual stream of my thoughts, views, and ideas, has instead turned into the very occasional uttering of someone who writes when he gets too bored with the everyday trappings of his existence and finally feels the need to do something different or in addition to the normal routine.

In some ways, it is safe to say I lack the courage of my convictions, even the courage of my dreams. Along the way of my thus far 60-year journey on this planet, I have had and abandoned numerous dreams, none of which I apparently felt strongly about to risk pursuing. If I did, I might be the architect I dreamt of being in seventh grade or the lawyer I thought I would become in high school or even the world traveler I had hoped by now to be.

Instead, I respond on Facebook to people who hold views opposed to those I say I hold or try to make humorous comments about something someone else has posted. Or I agree with someone about something they have said.

I am not on the front lines of any fight or even on the back lines, for that matter. I sit safely at my desk, at my computer, and watch the world go by, rushing past me ever faster, without the courage to join in.

I think I can sing. I think I can write. But it wasn't until I was nearly 60 years of age that I even tried to share my singing or my songwriting with others. It turns out few want to hear it.

The first post of this blog was written January 25, 2008. That means that in a little more than four months this blog will be ten years old. In nearly ten years, I have managed to write 227 posts counting this one. I have managed to draw all of 15,068 total views in that time, which is actually more than I expected.

This year, I have written nine posts, including this one. It isn't that I don't think I have things to say. It's just that most days I don't say them because I don't think anyone will read or care what I have to say.

I have had three posts out of 226 previous posts that have garnered more than 100 page views. Roughly one-third of my posts have been viewed by fewer than ten people, including one just last month. Four posts have never been viewed. If I am a writer, I am a niche writer at best.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with any of this. Perhaps it's self-pity. Perhaps it's a realization that whatever I have to say isn't really all that unique. Who knows?

When I started this blog, it was not actually with the idea that it would attract a large following. On the other hand, I did hope that some people would read it. Occasionally, some people do. More often, though, people do not.

I'm not sure what any of this means for the future of this blog. I sometimes wish I had a focused interest or handful of interests that people could rely on reading about on these virtual pages. It would likely result in a more reliable readership, not to mention a more predictable publishing pattern. But I don't.

Unfortunately, my interests can change from day to day, just as my mind can wander from one subject to the next, sometimes without warning. That, in fact, may be the key reason I cannot consider myself an actual writer. My mind is often not capable of staying engaged in a subject long enough to write about it. That, in term, may be why I write song lyrics and not longer forms of prose.

Truth is, I don't really know that either. On the other hand, since it is likely that few people will see this, let alone read it, I suppose I can use this blog as a sounding board.

For a while, I had hopes of easily reaching 500 posts on this blog, which is why I began numbering them. Now that seems a bit out of reach since I am less than halfway to that number one decade into writing this blog.

Right now, at this moment, I do not know what it is I want to say or what it is I have to say. Perhaps things will be different tomorrow. In which case I'll be back with a new entry, though I'm not counting on it.

#151 - The Importance of Being a Dreamer

"I know that everybody has a dream / Everybody has a dream
Everybody has a dream / And this is my dream, my own"

- Billy Joel "Everybody Has a Dream"

I guess I've had a number of dreams over the years. Growing up, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. Then, when I learned how long that would take, I switched to dreaming of architecture (still an interest), then law. Along with the dream of becoming a lawyer was the thought I might someday go into politics - until I realized I wouldn't even win an election in my own family.

These are the dreams of what I would call real life - what I wanted to be when I grew up. There were also the dreams I knew to be complete fantasy - dreams of being a successful baseball player, even though I had no talent; dreams of being a singer/songwriter (I do like to sing and do still write lyrics, so maybe I haven't completely let go of that one); dreams of owning a number of television and radio stations, a pale imitation of which played out in my ten years working in radio and television; even dreams of being an acclaimed novelist (haven't quite let go of that dream yet). Most of these were part of my survival mechanism, I suppose, a way to cope with and get through all of the crap I felt to be going on around me.

Delusional? Perhaps. But I have come to realize that dreams are important to us in all stages of life. They are, really, the thing that keeps up going and makes it possible for us to get out of bed day after day. Even if they might never come true, there is always a chance they might, and that makes it possible for people to go on. They certainly made it possible for me to go on.

An oft-paraphrased quote from Karl Marx states that religion is the opiate of the masses. In some ways, I suspect our dreams are the opiate. They are what keeps us going when times are hard. They give us something to look forward to, to get out of bed for. It has been said that when we stop dreaming, we die.

So even at my later stage of life, I continue to dream. For the most part, my dreams have changed with age. I no longer dream of being this or of having that career. Instead, I dream of going places, seeing things. My dream now is of retiring and living full-time in a motorhome, traveling to see places I've never seen and people I haven't seen in a long time.

Right now, it looks as if that dream could well come true, and that helps keep me going. Plus, I still have dreams of writing that novel. If I can just find the discipline to sit down and do it. What dreams do you hold on to?

#148 - Write Your Own Song

"You can write your own words / You can sing your own song
And it doesn't really matter if you're out of tune / Or if no one sings along"
- John Wesley Harding "Sing Your Own Song"

Next to Elvis Costello, John Wesley Harding is, perhaps, my favorite songwriter of the last twenty-plus years. Plus, he's written three novels. In other words, he's done the things I always told myself I wanted to do.

A part of me has always been into writing. I won't call it a passion, as there has always been some question about whether I'm truly passionate about anything. However, I have enjoyed writing for quite some time, even making a living at it during my years as a reporter and later as a news producer.

In high school, I worked on the school newspaper, writing editorials about book burning, gas rationing (it was the 70s, the time of the oil embargo), and the like. I latched onto writing as a way to be noticed, I suppose, something that didn't happen from being in marching band, and I wasn't coordinated enough or strong enough or fast enough for sports.

Writing also became my way of coping with the world around me outside my home, as well as the feelings and emotions inside me and my home. Because I have the discipline and dedication of a gnat (and at times the attention span to go with it), I never worked much on longer forms of writing, although I always told people I wanted to write a novel . . . one day.

Instead, I latched onto song lyrics as my outlet. It was almost like writing poetry, except I didn't have to be opaque or obscure or quite so metaphorical. Song lyrics were also good and inexpensive therapy. My lyrics, bad as they were at times, helped me to express and work through things I wasn't really comfortable sharing with others. As a result, most of the lyrics I've written have perhaps thankfully never been shared with others.

I began writing lyrics my senior year in high school, and I've never really stopped, although I have gone months at a time without writing a word. Forty years of thoughts, feelings, rhymes, and stories. Most of what I've written is utter drivel and not likely to be improved with age or revision, something I almost never do.

Yet, I keep writing. It keeps my mind and my imagination active. I've written enough words to probably fill two or three novels, although I don't think much of a narrative could be pieced together from them if all those words were combined. (An interesting experiment for perhaps another day.)

I'd like to think my lyric writing has improved with time, age, and possibly wisdom, but a writer of any genre is generally not the best judge of his or her own work. So, at the end of this post, I'll let you decide.

The song I quoted at the start of this post, "Sing Your Own Song," conveys the idea that we each of us should live our own lives, write our own songs, as it were, and not worry about what other people want, think, or say about it. It's the idea that each of us marches to the beat of a different drummer.

I've been marching to that different beat for most of my life. I'd like to think my drummer has gained a better sense of timing and rhythm over the years. I'd also like to think that drummer will one day help me beat out that novel I still hope to write. In the meantime, I'll keep writing my lyrics, even if "no one sings along." Here's the latest, based on no personal experience or person I know, yet it probably fits several people who have gone in and out of my life over the years.

Just One of Those Things

I see the crystal vision / Of places we once went
I know my indecision / Caused us to lose the scent
Of what we had
I know I should be sad
But I'm not even mad, it was just one of those things

I hear the distant echoes / Of songs we used to share
They seem to end in mid-note / Left hanging in the air
Reminders of
This thing we once called love
Not quite like hand in glove, it was just one of those things

We thought we knew where we were going
We hadn't a clue
Each day, the doubt kept growing
Inside both me and you

Around me, imitations / Of things we used to do
Are there reminding me of / The life I had with you
So long ago
Where did that feeling go?
I don't really know, it was just one of those things

We finally reached the point
We couldn't take any more
One of us had to leave
We both walked out the door

I know someday the memories / Will simply fade away
Well meaning friends no longer / Asking if I'm okay
Like something's wrong
We just did not belong
And when one day you were gone, it was just one of those things

No need for sad goodbyes, it was just one of those things

One day we'll look back on this as just one of those things

- All rights reserved, 2014 -

#145 - More Random Thoughts

I've been thinking a lot lately about writing, which means I haven't been doing much of it. Well, that's not quite true. I've been doing more song lyric writing of late, something that seems to come in starts and stops, much as it has for 40 years.

I think the writing has gotten better. After 40 years, it would have to improve, wouldn't you think? One thing it has done is gotten more introspective, I think. I've been writing of late about the things left undone, perhaps as a sort of purge as I begin to think about the things I hope to do as I begin to look forward to the next stage of life.

One of the things I hope to do in that next stage is travel. Deep down, I think I am a restless spirit. My wife and I both tell people we are nomads or gypsies and cite the fact that both of our fathers were truck drivers. I think I've always had an urge to roam. When I was younger, I saw moving as a way to break from my mistakes, to make a clean start, if you will.

In my previous life in television and radio, I moved seven times over a ten year period. I was not one for putting down roots. Now, after living ten years in the same city, I have an urge to move again, although perhaps not at quite the same pace.

There is one blog I read regularly that captures a good sense of the kind of life I am looking to lead. That blog, rvsue and her canine crew, captures the daily essence for me of life along the road less traveled (to borrow from the M. Scott Peck book of the same name). As Sue paints it in her word portraits, life is not always exciting, but it is always fresh and always real.

Sue's blog has, at last count, attracted in excess of one million visits. The figure is mind boggling to me, not least of all because this blog stands at roughly 0.02% of that figure. I'm not jealous of that success, but I am most certainly in awe of it.

Thinking about Sue's blog and mine got me to thinking about my rationale for numbering my blog posts. When I first decided to number my posts, I think I did so in order to see how far I had come, a means of measurement, I suppose. I've also come to see the numbering as a way of showing myself that I was writing something substantial, even if it wasn't always of great import.

Writing, although I see it as one of my talents, is not something I can easily sit down to do. The numbering became an easy way for me to measure production, I suppose, especially since I still can't make myself sit down to write that novel.

I am also coming to see the numbering of blog posts in a different light. The numbers are becoming to me something like stepping stones or mileposts along the way. Some travel blogs contain maps with numbers that illustrate where the author was at a given point of time. The numbers serve to allow the readers to visually follow along with the author on his or her journey.

I am coming to see my blog post numbers as serving a similar purpose. Subconsciously, perhaps, the numbers allow any readers to follow a map of my journey. I cannot post a visual map of my mind (it would be very messy, for one thing), so the numbers are as close as I can come.

One last number just came to mind. At my current rate of page views, I only need to write 59, 736 more posts to reach a million views. One down, 59,735 to go.

#138 - Looking Forward, Looking Back

New Year's Eve. The time of year when we traditionally look ahead and look back. As I get older, there is more to look back at and less to look ahead to simply because more of my life is now behind me. However, that doesn't me I don't still look ahead.

In the new year, I look forward to more opportunities to get out with our RV and perhaps find new places in which to enjoy nature. When I am out in nature, I feel myself closer to God. I hope to experience more of that in 2014.

In the coming year, I also hope to do more writing. Writing is a challenge for me sometimes. I'm good at it, and I have plenty of ideas on which to write. What I lack is discipline and focus. In 2014, I hope to find some of each.

I hope to start that process with this blog, hopefully becoming more consistently productive in terms of blog entries in 2014. One of the ways I hope to do that is by using this space to weigh in on various issues and topics. I have in the past shied away from writing on political matters here. That will likely end in 2014.

For some time, I have lamented the level of political discussion on Facebook. I have openly stated my assertion that Facebook is not the place for serious political discussion and is likely not an appropriate place for truly serious discussion of any issue. Twitter, because of its 140-character limit on each tweet, is even worse. Both are, to my mind, the 21st century technological equivalent of the 30-second soundbite. They might sound good, but they are not likely to give you the full story or even an in-depth look at any issue.

In the new year, I hope hope to do a better job of getting in touch with and of staying in touch with the people who have been a part of my journey to now. Facebook and this blog will, I hope, play a big part in fulfilling that desire. My cousin's annual get together of family and friends will also help, I suspect.

Those people, family and friends, some all but forgotten, were on my mind as I was writing these words. They were also on my mind when I wrote the words below, words with which I close this entry and 2013, words with which I embark on 2014. Happy New Year everyone!

My New Year's Wish

It's time to turn the clock again
Reflecting on the things we've done and hope to do
Another year has come and gone
Went by so fast, it seems as if the time just flew

More and more these days, I seem to find
Myself looking to another time
Filled with friends and memories in my mind

Here's to you -
Here's hoping that your dreams will all come true
I hope that you find joy in all you do
This is my New Year's wish for you

Looking back at all I have or had
I've come up short but learned to let go of regret
Remembering those who've shared this ride
Wish you were here but know that I will not forget

Along the way, each of you played a part
And your memory lives on in my heart
Long as it does, we'll never be apart

Here's to you -
Here's hoping that your dreams will all come true
I hope that you find joy in all you do
This is my New Year's wish for you

Time and distance separate us
We've had our bumps and bruises on the way
And while there may be things that I'd do different
I wouldn't trade a single day

Here's to you -
Here's hoping that your dreams will all come true
I hope that you find joy in all you do
This is my New Year's wish for you

I hope your dreams will all come true
This is my New Year's wish for you

2013. All rights reserved.

#78 - If a Blog Falls in the Forest . . .

I have found myself wondering lately with more frequency whether anyone "out there" reads the ramblings I post here from time to time. I would like to think so, but the image that comes to mind is of thoughts drifting aimlessly across the blogosphere, much like a seed drifting on the wind, only to end up on barren ground.

On the one hand, it is not important that anyone else read what I post here. After all, I write mainly for me, often as a form of self-therapy, always as a means of giving expression to that part of me that needs to attempt to be creative.

On the other hand, it would be nice to think that dozens of people read these posts and find themselves amused, engaged, challenged, or even angered by what they read. The realist in me (or pessimist, if you prefer) does not really allow for that possibility, but the more optimistic part of me, small though it is, thinks it could happen.

However, I probably would never know. The number of comments posted in the nearly three years I've been blogging still number in single digits. That tells me either that no one is reading or that no one is interested enough in what they read here to say anything about it.

Either way, I imagine I'll continue to blog as long as it continues to fulfill my need for self-expression in ways that my occasional attempts at writing song lyrics do not. The situation does, however, beg the question similar to that of the tree in the forest: if a blog is posted and no one reads it, is it truly a blog and was it ever really written?