Self-Imposed Exile - Journal Entry #25

A novel told in journal fragments: A writer's quiet struggle to finish a novel, alone in the woods.

Sunday, June 1 - 1:09pm - Day 201

I sometimes think that every decision I’ve ever made has been the wrong one. I’m not talking decision like having oatmeal or eggs for breakfast. I’m talking big decision. Life decisions. Things that matter. My grandfather always told me to become a teacher. I considered it, but didn’t go that route. I tried to make my own way. I ended up working in a grocery store for over a decade so you can see where that decision got me.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to move to Greece. It was for a TV series. It hadn’t been picked up or greenlit by any studios but the director was a friend of a friend of mine. There was some interesting buzz around him and the idea for the show but nothing was solid. If things had been different and it was definitely going to happen, I absolutely would have gone. But since it was really nothing at that moment I decided against it. The show eventually did get picked up but it only lasted for a few episodes. But I did find out that the writer (who they hired and actually went to Greece) has worked over there since then on a handful of projects with that director.

And most recently, this self-imposed exile. Seemed like a great idea at the beginning. Quiet. Remote. Just my own deadline to hit. No real pressure. I see how that’s going. Definitely not the way I imagined it would.

Those are just a few examples. There are plenty more. The meetings I botched. The jobs I turned down. The stories I never finished. The contacts I never kept in touch with. All the decisions that led me to this point in my life.

I’m sure everyone, at some point, has thought that. This decision or that decision is what put them on their path. I believe everyone also thinks that the other decision would have been the one that would have changed their world and their life.

I think that way too, but, I also think if I had made the other decision, it would have been just the same. It wouldn’t have changed my life. I’d still be in a similar situation, just in a different location.

If I’d become a teacher - sure I’d have every summer off, a steady job, a pension, etc. But I didn’t want to be a teacher. So I’d have some stability but I wouldn’t be happy. I’d be just going through the motions until it was time to retire. If I’d gone to Greece - I’d be in a country where I didn’t know anyone. I’d be lonely and, even if I was working somewhat consistently, it wouldn’t matter that much if I didn’t really want to be there. And, at that point in my life, I was a much different person. I remember that guy. He wouldn’t have lasted long there. And coming up here - If I had chosen not to do this, I’d be home, working at the grocery store, wondering why I never had enough time to write my novel.

Do I know I would hate those other paths? No. Can’t say it for absolute sure, but when I think about me and how I was, I can extrapolate it. I’m pretty sure I know myself well enough so I can guess at the outcome.

It doesn’t seem to matter which path I take, I always seem to end up not liking where I am and wishing I’d taken the other path. But then I think about that and realize that other path probably wouldn’t be any better.

At some point you run out of alternate versions of your life to imagine.

You’re just left with the one you have.

If you’re curious how this all began, click here!