I'd be more willing to accept this about myself if it weren't for the fact that for everthing I begin to do, and begin to do passionately, there's another thing that suffers. Sure, I can say happily that I'm cooking again, but I've also not been in the studio for three weeks. I'm writing again, but not corresponding with anyone, and from time to time I deliberately isolate myself from my friends. I can't even begin to talk about exercise or some kind of martial practice. It's like there's just not enough me to go around.
Perhaps it ends up resting on the high hopes I set on things. I want to be doing things that engage me, and that others will take interest in. There's such an expectation of finding meaning and definition for myself that when I'm faced with even a minor setback (e.g. the light-struck Belgian ale), I stumble and fall flat on my face. Successful experimentation I've got down, but mastery has been incredibly elusive. I'm not terribly proud of my tendency to discourage, and yet it seems like it's something I have to live with for the time being.
Incidentally, yesterday's post wasn't intended to give the impression that I'm a good fencer. Far from it. I'm actually kind of a hack, and I know more theory than I can actually put into practice. The fact of the matter was that the wireboys were, well, not very good fencers, and it just didn't take a whole lot of finesse to beat them.