I've begun a memoirs of sort. My own million little pieces with less, at least intentional, fiction. I've entitlted it failing faith, a soundtrack of quiet desperation.
Because that's the crossroads I seem to always be at, where I feel that I have failed faith placed in me and that the faith I've placed in many things has failed.
Ive always thought it took one of two qualities to keep a diary or a journal. One had to have an absolutely huge ego and think that ones life mattered enough to write it down or one had to have such a lack of self esteem that writing it down allowed expression that no one would care about anyway. While I have had bouts of low self esteem and have almost always embraced arrogance as a personality trait, the truth is neither ever had enough impact to inspire my writing anything down. But yet Ive been meaning to write down a few things for a few years now and since the thought doesn't stop nagging, it has been heard for its much speaking. I doubt anyway will ever read this; if you are, copyright the cure for insomnia. Quick. Do it. Right now.
Failing Faith, a Soundtrack of Quiet Desperation comes off as a loaded title. It is. By faith I dont just mean, faith. I do mean Faith, the capital f Faith which includes God and Jesus and all that is holy (no pun intended). I feel that up to this point at least both my faith and I have failed each other. From a kid who always wanted to be a preacher, this admission is mildly put heart breaking. The righteous among us would say that Faith did not fail me, I only did it. I don't know if they are right, you can let the narrative explain to you my logic and emotions. However, from the start I want to contest the premise and say that it failed and still fails me, and that I failed it and am still failing it. The double entandra is something I am fundamentally committed to.
The subscript is of course a reference to the famous quote that most men live lives of quiet desperation. I spend much of life feeling desperate these days. Desperate for meaning, hope, love, joy, happiness, peace. They come to my in inklings, wave which rush over me but will not engulf me, distant smells which tantalize me but still I cant taste them. They elude me like the chocolate in chocolate covered strawberries which are usually just dipped, the chocolate is a taste. Youre really just having the strawberry after a small amount of chocolate which so quickly melt. But a soundtrack by its very definition cannot be quiet. So what am I saying that this quiet desperation is for me deafeningly silent.
Is this a true story? No. It is my memories which are there to tell my story. I dont know where truth makes it bed but it doesnt sleep exclusively with me. It is my story told as true and as painstakingly honest as I can render it but I cannon escape my own biases. If youre in the story in a good or bad light, be assured this says more about me than it ever could about you.
Last but not least, this is not a morality tale. I'm not going anywhere with it. I dont know the point to life but Ive learned a few points along the way. I hope you enjoy the story. Im trying to...