Obligation

I started to talk about having a good day today--I did, mainly because the back is much better--but then I reconsidered because I have something on my mind.

From time to time, I find myself wondering what having a talent asks of you. At the risk of sounding arrogant or vain, I am going to say I have talent as a writer. This is a gift, a thing given to me--whether it comes from God or a happy genetic accident doesn't really matter, since it's not something I made.

All I can do is develop it. That's actually the thing that matters, the work that goes into developing the gift. There's no question in my mind about that and if I take any pride in anything to do with my writing, it's that: the work I've put into it.

But sometimes I wonder if I work hard enough, and sometimes, when I'm considering my work ethic (or lack thereof), I wonder whether or not I have an obligation to develop my talent and do something with it.

What if I don't want to? Doesn't that waste it? And isn't that a shame, and kind of a slap to someone who has the desire but not the gift? I sometimes feel as if it is, generally when I'm feeling unproductive and as if producing something is an effort akin to carving Mt. Everest to rubble with a spoon. I feel as if I'm squandering a fortune I've been given.

Just now it occurred to me to try this from another angle.

I wish I could sing. Man, do I wish I could sing. My great-grandfather sang opera and (according to family legend) could have been a star if he hadn't loved the bottle so much. My grandfather inherited some of his talent--to this day, "Ave Maria" makes me think of him. My dad could sing.

Me? As far as I'm concerned, key is what I use to open my door and pitch is what Curt Schilling does. The only music I make is with language...but I wish I could open my mouth and sing beautifully.

So let me imagine a woman who can sing, who loves to sing, but who doesn't--for whatever reason--want to develop her voice into a professional instrument. She sings to give herself pleasure, and that's the end of it. There are other things in her life that matter to her that she's not willing to trade in order to sing professionally.

Do I resent her because she's squandering a gift I wish I had? No. It's hers, not mine, and she's getting pleasure out of it, and maybe that's all that matters. (I'm sure the people who hear her get pleasure out of it.)

Or lets say she does sing professionally, but in little local clubs, on the weekend. Is she squandering her gift? No. She's doing what's right for her.

I think I fret about this with the part of me who thinks imagining isn't working, who believes people who say writers write, and chide people for thinking about writing instead of actually writing. I believe those people because I think there's some truth in what they say, and I know I sometimes put off writing because it's been so long that I get daunted.

The thing is, I have to recognize how I think and work. I focus on things, one thing at a time, and if I'm not focusing on my writing because I'm focusing on something else that has a legitimate claim on my time, then that's the way it is, because that's the way I am.

The other thing is that I know I'll be wrestling with this until I die. This isn't something that gets solved; it's just something I learn to live with.