Chicken and Egg

Lughnasa                                                                 Lughnasa Moon

Sorting files. Lotsa stuff in files, stuck there in case of, well, something. Case in point. Year 2000 maps of Ontario, Michigan, Minnesota. One of the circle tours I took. They went out with the recycling on Tuesday. Another one with my favorite letter from a medical professional, ENT doc Tom Christansen. In it, after diagnosing my left ear deafness, he writes about my interesting inner ear bones, “They would make a good study, but I hope the opportunity for that doesn’t arise for some time.” Me, too.

The files that always get my attention, though I come to them rarely, but once in several years, are old psychological reports from my seminary days. Seminaries and religious denominations are big consumers of psychological testing and interpretation. Cue the recent Catholic scandals for one good reason.

In my case the materials tells a story mostly familiar to me by now. Likes to work on his own. Interested in academic pursuits. Creative. Skill in two primary areas: creating and influencing. I said mostly because that second skill area seems to slip below the surface of my awareness. Which is odd given what it describes.

Influencing, according to the Campbell Interest and Skill Survey, values “the opportunity to be a change agent, moving organizations forward. Influencing types crave visibility and desire to take charge of activities that interest them and make things happen. Enjoying the give and take of negotiating and debating, they are often drawn to vocations such as company presidents, corporate managers and attorneys.” Tangible results are important to him, and he is aware that lack of such results can increase his level of impatience, the interpretation of these results add specifically about me.

I’m belaboring this, which may be obvious to those who know me well, because it points to the specific struggle, the big one, which engages me these days. Tangible results. Writing. Lack of. Hmmm. Journey before destination. Can I retire from writing without having published anything? Except, of course, for millions of words here. To ask this question puts the influencing aspect of my personality into an impossible chicken-egg cycle, one I’ve not been able to break.

So, I’ve written. A lot. You know the story by now. Novels, short stories, etc. But since writers see publication, not writing, as the “tangible result” I have not, for all that, achieved tangible results. Which, at various points, does raise my level of impatience. With myself of course since I’m the only actor in this mini-drama.