I have spent the last couple of months doing everything but writing on my blog, which I silently, but emphatically, chalked up to having nothing to say.

That's bullshit.

Verbal discretion has never been my strong suit, and I am foolish to think that all of a sudden I came down with a case of quiet humility. It's just not me. I think I had plenty to say over the last couple of months...the same half-formed opinions on topics I barely understand that comprise the bulk of my conversations. I like to opine more than I like most things, and that certainly didn't change. I think what happened is that I got depressed. For whatever reason, I got down. And when I get down, I start to lose inspiration to create much of anything.

The truth is, I think part of me started to believe that my thoughts weren't worth putting up on the blog...that they didn't meet whatever standards for public discourse govern the blog world. But that's just it...there are no standards. I've read many brilliant blogs (see: c-change.blogspot.com) and many very very stupid blogs (see: 1spframes.blogspot.com/). and many inbetween. And yet I held on to this idea that every sentence I post has to meet some standard for decent writing...that I have some plumb-line of inspiration to meet, and should I fall short, I will lose 10 charisma points, be sent a written reprimand by the "counsel to make sure everything Justin Masterson does is OK," and be kicked squarely in the small of my back.

This idea raises two questions for me...why do I think I'm so damn terrible...and why do I think I'm so damn important?

It's like I hold these expectations for myself...that I constantly have to live up to some kind of standard, or people will notice. Exactly which people do I think are watching? I don't know. I can't boast the kind of paranoid delusions that, say, John Nash can...but I still can't shake the feeling that everything has to be done perfectly, or somehow everybody will find out that I'm not all that great a dude.

If I can shake my own Justincentric perspective long enough, I can see the reality that most people are far too busy monitoring themselves to pay any attention to me. But I can't stay in that perspective for very long...I tend to drop back into this mindset that I'm not allowed to fail.

My parents weren't terribly perfectionistic, I don't think. Though my mom did like to vaccuum...but that may have just been because it drowned out the 80's hair-metal-glam-rock blaring from my older brother's room. My dad kept a comb with him most of the time...but I still don't think that qualifies as perfectionistic. We had wire hangers. We had clothes on the floor sometimes. We even had socks that didn't match.

So how does a guy end up thinking that if he doesn't do well at everything the world will fall apart?

I don't know. Do you have any guesses?

Either way, I'm glad to post again.

Peace,
Justin