Regular readers may have noticed that I have not been posting very much in the last month or so. In addition to it having been a busy Christmas season, the other reason stems from my own outlook.
While there may be a measure of seasonal affective disorder influencing that outlook, I think the main cause is that I find it increasingly difficult to get excited, upset, outraged or flummoxed by the world's antics. For me, there is nothing new under the sun, which presents a problem for a blogger who writes about the world. One of the rules I have generally observed in my writing life, both on this platform and in my other communication endeavours, is not to write when I don't feel it. In other words, writing for the sake of writing, without even a modicum of passion, is an empty exercise with generally unsatisfying results.
Don't get me wrong - committing mu thoughts to metaphorical paper has been an integral part of my life since I was a young teenager, when I started submitting letters to the editor. Writing has always helped to focus and refine my thinking, and in these latter days of my life, I hope it helps to keep my cognitive functioning intact. I have no desire to "go gentle into that good night."
Nonetheless, and I hope my inertia will pass, I have no faith in the world anymore. Unlike when I was young, when everything seemed possible (even flying cars!), I now see only the ending of things, and the deep sense that as a species, we have passed our best before date, that we are participating in the long goodbye.
I shall close this mini-confessional with a clip by the late, great George Carlin who, in the latter part of his career, seemed to mirror my dour worldview.
