Stay with me on this one.Â
Robert Bruce caught me in a revealing misread of his latest poem at Knife Gun Pen: Everything Will Conspire to Stop You. My misread says more about me than Robert’s poem, I think. A poetry criticism Freudian slip of sorts.
Here are the stanzas where I veered off into a revealing reader response:
you’ve got to
sharpen the steel
and
do it
do it
do it
and
do it
againNo matter the payoff
This is the big leagues
baby
After finishing the poem, I immediately read David Zemens‘ first comment. His ideas recast the poem for me into the specific context of people who strive to be ”A-List” bloggers (which I do not strive to be).
I do love poetry and blogging and writing, in general, though. And I commented,
If I have to choose, I want to be an A-List dad and husband. It ain’t sexy, but it’s my life.
Then Robert and WPS wondered at my response. And I began to wonder too. Why do I feel like I have to choose? In fact, why do so many professionals turn their careers into zero-sum games, diving into workoholism like it is the only way to show you value the work?
I know I should feel like loving my kids and my wife is a big league thing to do, but it usually just feels domestic.
Certainly my devotion to my family and my growing devotion to online communities aren’t mutually exclusive. But I only have so much time in the day. My day job already pulls me away for 40+ hours a week. Blogging often feels like moonlighting–and I have no intention of monetizing it.
This was all brought home to me this weekend. I took a holiday on Good Friday and decided to take a holiday from the blogosphere as well. My six-year-old daughter, itching to play a game, read over my shoulder as I typed a comment to that effect. “See you later, I’m unplugging from the computer for the weekend.” Then she gave me a kiss and started dancing around the room.
It gives one pause.
Don’t get me wrong. Blogging is very important to me. I can’t stop doing it. But it is fourth on my list and I often don’t make it past the first three items: faith, family, and work.
As long as this is a hobby, I have to be careful that I don’t let my play get in the way of my purpose. That doesn’t mean there isn’t purpose in my play. It does mean there will be time to sharpen the steel of blogging.
There will not be much more time to play games with my six-year-old daughter.
I love you all who read here (and must be hoping for another post about editing?). Certainly there is purpose in our play here. But I am not responsible for you in the same way that I am responsible for my daughter. That puts more weight on the limited time I have to play with her.
In some ways, I agree with Prufrock. “There will be time, there will be time.”
And, frankly, “I am not Prince Hamlet.” I’d be happy to be “an attendant Lord, one that will do / To swell a progress, start a scene or two.” Frankly, I’m happy just to be on stage with all of you in the blogosphere.
But all of us differ from Prufrock in a really important way. At his dinner party, he sees the woman across the room and wonders “Do I Dare? Do I dare disturb the universe?”
You bet I do. We all do. We are here to sharpen the steel. We are here to sharpen each other. And do it do it do it. We are here to disturb the universe.
Prufrock is not. He announces his fear and defeat with a question: Would it have been worth it after all? If he tries to disturb the universe, if he approaches the woman he adores, and she just doesn’t get it? Is the effort alone worth the risk?
Prufrock says no. Disturbing the universe is only worth trying if we know the pay off.
Robert and WPS and I do not agree with Prufrock. We will disturb the universe no matter the payoff. God help us, daring to try is the payoff.

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