The Least Literary

I'm feeling confused.

More properly considered, as I jot these ephemeral thoughts into the ether, I am feeling lost.  I have just realized a dream (in a way) by publishing my very first eBook, and have spent two largely sleepless days trying to arrange its marketing.

And I realized that it simply didn't feel right.

Perhaps it's another mood swing (seeing as I was filled with inexplicable euphoria a day ago), but the art isn't there.  I feel like I'm forcing something, rushing things, that I'm selling out in some way.

Am I just second-guessing myself?

I'm interviewing for another 9-5 in a day, and part of me is thrilled and excited at the opportunity.  Another part of me wonders if I'm still wandering about aimlessly.  Am I missing it?  Whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing?

Maybe it's just anxiety and uncertainty.

But I know I can do better.  That feeling of rightness, that you're doing what it is that you are supposed to be doing -- that is true happiness.  Money and power are just ways we try to find that feeling, the Element as Ken Robinson calls it.  Finding what you're meant to be doing -- finding out how to be ourselves, as Hunter S. Thompson puts it: see the excellent blog post by Brain Pickings that contains Hunter S. Thompson's excellent letter to a friend on the topic of finding purpose.  I think that's why gurus like Timothy Ferriss thrill and excite us so much, because he urges escaping the chains of a forced identity and living your passion.

Life is too short for anything else.

Not sure what it means, but I'm going to figure it out.

In the mean time, I shall consult with the inimitable Stephen Fry, being as I am halfway through More Fool Me, and as always enjoying the good company.  I'm finally getting a handful of his apposite references, and was pleased to catch his references to Malcolm Gladwell and the history of computing (Walter Isaacson comes in handy).