Ambition comes and goes like a mood. It waxes and wanes like the phases of the moon. A bit of pain, a slice of unwanted or unwelcome news can knock ambition clean out of you. They can make ambition leave the building, asking as she goes, "What's the point?"
And you're left nodding your head, if you have the energy left to nod.
But ambition never stays away too long, because the point, of course, is fun. Maybe it's the doing that matters, maybe it's the reaching out to and actually touching someone else. Maybe the only one who ever sees your words or hears your songs is you, and maybe that's the point, too. Ultimately, life is joy and the point is to do something joyful.
Like Kurt Vonnegut says, we were placed on this earth to fart around.
My ambition took a hike over the weekend, leaving me with "those things a man's gotta do because a man's gotta do them." That's a shrill excuse for not writing. I usually don't need an excuse for not writing, I just don't write. But I am in the middle of something fun and special to me, and not writing feels like the wrong option, especially because I didn't feel like it.
Fortunately, my ambition returned this morning. Until then I just farted around. And it was fun.
One good thing: I finally joined a Procrastinator's Club. Still waiting for the newsletter.
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