A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-And-Eighty-Four

I have been asked to consider the possibility of something that is larger than what I have been pursuing in my career, and which goes outside the systemic limitations I am straining against.  It is not an easy thing, to be honest, and I don't really know how it could be possible, in a certain sense.  The best I have found is the possibility of focusing on an artistic effort, on creating something that seems significant to me.  This, of course, does appeal to me, and I know it is possible that placing a larger focus on that effort might alter my current paradigm, taking energy from my current frustrations and giving me a sense of achievement in terms of the work itself.  I know, however, that it is not a real solution, that, in some ways, it is just postponing things.  I mean to say, if I create such a work, having done it will not be enough; the same desires I am now confronting will return and I will desire to get the work into the world in a way that seems meaningful to me.  I want, however, to put that effort in, of course.  I mean to say: I can see a possibility that I want to explore as an artist.  In many ways it has been on the horizon for me for a long while and I am now beginning to get an understanding of it, though it is vague.  Now, I know I need to pursue this, and I am glad to be doing so, but I also recognize it is only partly the answer, is, in truth, a diversion from answering.  Perhaps it should be enough to find an artistic effort that is fulfilling, but it doesn't feel that way for me.  I feel the need to do the work, but I also see a tragedy in such an effort when nothing more comes of it.  If I assume that things will always remain the way that they are right now, for me: that I will have a very slow trickle of work but without a cohesive career, I can imagine two possibilities.  Either, the work is never recognized, even after I am gone, and that is just me wasting my whole life, or it is discovered, but I am already gone and will never know.  This latter is, of course, a sort of improvement, from a universal perspective, and I would be glad to have my work matter in that circumstance, but it still feels a tragedy for me.  I feel terrible for an artist like Van Gogh, who never found an audience in his life, and find it absurdly upsetting to think of his impact in contrast to that.  For me, I am also aware that, many times, I experience things changing in ways I have wanted, but only when it is not going to help me.  It has happened, more than once, that a change I championed and needed for myself was only enacted after I could take advantage of it, and I don't really find the idea that my work my be meaningful later at all reassuring, but as a cosmic punchline replicating this aspect of my experience.  I know all this is an absurdity, that I can't expect things that I don't have control over, but I also realize the truth of my experiences.  It isn't a choice, it is a need, and the idea of altering this part of the need seems deranged to me, like convincing a person who is starving that the desire to eat is the problem, not the lack of food.