ON WRIGHTS LANE: THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE FOLKS!

A "Take 30" wrap on a tireless blog site journey and labor of love. 

It is readily acknowledged that everything in life eventually comes to an end, this blog site being no exception. Even the trusty computer by which in excess of several thousand individual posts have been produced on Wrights Lane over a 14-year period is showing signs of wearing out...and I have no intentions of replacing it, if perchance it happens to give up the ghost before me.

Creative thought committed to the written word has been my life for almost three quarters of a century. I have often said that writing has been a therapeutic release for me, a derivative of creativity and resultant satisfaction -- a means by which I have sorted out things in my life, justified by the rationalization that if something is on my mind there is a good chance that it is on other people's minds as well.

I have had pride in all authorship, but have died a thousand deaths on many occasions and lost countless hours of sleep as a result. Satisfaction has come from any form of positive response from readers.

My written output has humbly run the gamut from social commentary, human interest, humor and personal experience (humiliation), to religious exploration and man-on-the-street reaction to politics and other controversial happenings in an increasingly complex world...Ideally leaving the reader with food-for-thought messages of varying degrees, be they often subtle and otherwise implicated.

All that, however, is past tense. That was then and this is NOW. In my 85th year I have become mentally and physically fatigued. The creative well has run dry. In the twilight, inspiration and necessary motivation have become increasingly hard to come by. Like so many other things in everyday life, writing has become an effort. I acknowledge futility of purpose and redundancy creeping up on me and I have finally come to grips with the fact that I am better keeping the muddled thoughts of an old man's mind to myself.

Mind you, ideas for stories still present themselves to me but the inclination to take the necessary next step (i.e. turn on the computer for starters) is lacking and I give in to the "why bother, who cares" attitude. It simply does not matter any more and I have no qualms about dismissing remnants of former creative impulses and the will to publish them for public consumption.

I rest easy as I free myself from the stress of worrying about reader perception of what I have written and the over-riding compulsion to fill up space on the computer screen in a meaningful way. There is an internal sense of peace in sitting on the sidelines as life passes without commentary from me. God knows I've tried to save the world, albeit ever so marginally in retrospect and to virtually no avail!

What is left of my energy now goes to putting one foot ahead of the other, smelling the proverbial precious fragrances of life, relating to children, animals, like-minded people and humor in all things, coupled with at least 10 hours of sleep nightly and nutrition befitting my tastes and impulses. After a life of too frequent exhaustive undertakings and personal immersions, I have remarkably come to feel comfortable with taking my foot off the pedal, so to speak. 

It is with resolve that I accept the futility engrained in a naive sense of purpose in being all things to all people and a concession that misunderstandings and misinterpretations are unfortunately a fact of life. You can never win 'em all as hard as you might try!

I buy into the concept that Life, no matter how little may be left of it, is for the liver! I am committed to forthwith enjoying every minute of it, even if it kills me!! My destiny rests in the hands of health care providers, inbred fortitude, stubborn will...and a much higher power.

The foregoing is undoubtedly the last I will have to say on this, or any other subject, on Wrights Lane and elsewhere. For lack of better wording, it is a Swan Song. My literary legacy will stay on  public record in the form of published work and a roster of blog sites hosted by Google.

Meantime dear friend, thanks once again for visiting. We may never go this way again!

Hark, the haunting and unmistakeable refrains of the "fat lady" singing to the lingering crowd at the end of a sporting event"!

God Bless Us...ALL.

When it is over, it is surely over; leaving another void destined to never be filled, and purposes unfulfilled -- yea undiscovered and denied.

    --30--