I've Got Dreams to Remember

Today I was going through the older pages on my new favorite site, xkcd, as I am methodically making my way through all of them. Over at Robots, I wrote about my obsession with the site, so head over there if you'd like a little more information. Within that post, I kindly provided two links back to this site, so it's just one big circle.

One of the strips I read today really blew my mind:

I don't even know if I can adequately explain what this is currently doing to my brain, but it's significant. I think it's because I've always been certain that I'm destined for big things. When I was younger, I was absolutely positive that I would be famous in some way. That's probably the main reason I went to film school. And when I moved to Los Angeles and started working in film and television, then got hired by Ellen DeGeneres herself, I was certain I was on my way to making my dreams come true.



But life had other plans, and now I live in Oregon, far removed from the Hollywood lifestyle I was living less than a year ago. Certainly my dreams have involved having a successful relationship (kudos to Katie on that one), and being a parent (uh...kudos to Katie again), but--and I really don't want this to sound like I'm not satisfied with these aspects of my life--I think there is supposed to be more. No, I'm certain there is supposed to be more, because it is truly depressing if this is all there is. Right now, I work so much that I barely see Katie and Merritt, and I definitely have little time to write this blog. So where's the value in all that? I have to spend so much time working just to make ends meet, and so much time stressing about suddenly becoming a mother, that I don't know if I've taken even a moment to think about my dreams.

Except I guess that's not entirely true either. To be honest, I did think there was a chance that this blog might get some attention and get me on a path toward making those larger dreams come true. In the last decade, I've realized that all I really want to do is write. So I started a blog several years ago, which has since morphed into Robots, and for a while there I was writing every day. It was mostly a baseball blog, and though I had fun at times, I don't think I'm cut out to be a sportswriter. And my life took enough twists and turns that it became difficult to make the "here are stories about my day-to-day life" aspect of the blog work.

So I started this site, for several reasons. My first thought was that it was hilarious for me to think about trying to watch every episode of Oprah this season. My next thought was that it would be good for me to have a daily (or almost daily) writing project again. And my final thought was that maybe this site would get me the attention I sometimes (on my good days) feel like I deserve for my writing.

And I have had a fair amount of readers since last September. Robots has been in existence for nearly five years now, and has only accumulated 14,846 hits at last count. Today, this site is at 11,870 and counting. It will catch up to Robots soon, but what difference does that make? I know that most of my readers are friends and family, and though I like the fact that they're enjoying the site, if they're the only ones reading I could have just spent my time sending out daily mass emails.

I'm not the type who believes in instant fame, or longs to be famous for no reason at all. I actually don't even think "fame" is my ultimate goal. Yes, I want many, many people to read what I write, but that's not because I long to be a guest on Oprah or anything like that. I think even as a teenager I thought I was supposed to be something big because I wanted to change people's lives and--more importantly--I wanted to be remembered. There was a time when I could think of nothing worse than not leaving a legacy when I die. I guess there's a huge part of me that still holds that opinion.

We could go into how now that I'm involved in raising a child, I will have a legacy in him. But the fact is, as much as I love that kid, he's not officially mine. He can't be. He has a mother and father. He is their legacy, not mine. And I've spent enough sleepless nights in the last seven months to know that I'm not all that interested in creating another one of these small people just so I'll have my "own" legacy.

The point of this post is not to explain how ungrateful I am for my life as it currently stands. I am beyond lucky, and I know that. Katie is an amazing woman, and it's kind of ridiculous that I could be so lucky as to call her mine. And Merritt is an exceptional kid, and the previous paragraph aside, I love him like he's my own, and I intend to make sure he always knows how much I love him.

Truthfully, I don't even know the point of this post. I guess reading that comic strip was a bit of an "a-ha moment" for me, but I don't think I've processed it enough to know exactly what my epiphany is supposed to be.

I guess the gist of it is, I know I'm supposed to do more with my life. Stay tuned for details on that, once I figure out exactly what "more" is.

Oh, yeah. And I've watched the last three episodes of Oprah. I still have to watch the one with Donald Trump that aired yesterday. Here are my thoughts:

• That Jennifer Aniston/Adam Sandler movie is going to suck no matter how much Oprah tries to tell us that Sandler is a "super duper funny man" (seriously, who writes that crap for her?)

• Piers Morgan likes Oprah a whole lot more than she likes him. He was kind of creepy, actually. Also, who the hell is Piers Morgan?

• MC Hammer has reinvented himself into...I don't know. Something to do with an iPad. It was boring.

• Bo Derek is only one year older than my parents. That's weird. I always thought she was so much older. Remember when she was in Tommy Boy? That was awesome.

• Pam Grier is terribly awkward in interviews. Also, it's like no one wanted to talk about how she was on that shitfest of a show The L Word for the last five years or whatever.

• Supermodels have feelings, too.

Monday: Trump and his five children.

Tuesday: Twin sisters who were raped by their father and brothers. Jesus.