It's 2020. A date that seemed so futuristic until all the sudden it was here. I think it some ways it does demarcate a different type of living. It's certainly not the future I had imagined, just as this isn't quite the life I had imagined for myself. But despite the seemingly cursed nature of modern life, there is still a lot of it. There's so much to this living thing, that I think I'll keep going, for as long as I can and try and see some more of it. But boy, it's hard at times to maintain perspective.
It’s been a good little bit since I last sat down here and wrote. Since National Letter Writing Month I believe! This year has absolutely flown by (is this how all the years will be from here on out?). Quite a lot and nothing much happened since. Which is a pretty boilerplate description of life in general. In the interim I went on an Alaskan Cruise with my Mom which was absolutely incredible (the Alaska part more than the cruise part). I’ve had a really lovely flurry of projects to work on this summer. But most importantly, it was my first actual full-on vacation since I went full-time in 2018. Now, I know everyone has a different calibration for how long is too long to go between vacations, but when you blow up your life and try and launch and grow a little baby business by your lonesome in your apartment, 1.5 years is a long ass time.
It's National Letter Writing Month, one of the made up calls for attention and celebration that I'm well and truly OK with. Letter writing needs a marketing campaign. And though I'm not so sure that I'm the most qualified for the job, I'm certainly trying to cultivate my habits this year, and with that comes trying to stand behind and carry the torch for the things that are important to me.
I'm trying to change my perspective. That is not to say, I don’t like the position I am in, or the view from my window, but the furniture of my mind has left some deep grooves in the rug. I feel at times the channels of my thought patterns are forming lines I find restricting. Lines that look a bit like a net.
It's 2019, baby! Word on the street is, this is going to be a good year. I've heard it just has good vibes, and that it just has to be better than 2018 and also my mom told me personally that 2019 has big things in store for me. So why argue with people? I'm embracing it. This is going to be a BIG YEAR for Gregory and his little Shipwreck Baby. But before I talk about all the things I have planned for 2019, I'd love to have a gander at 2018. Celebrate all the things I accomplished (and there's some real good ones in there). Talk about what disappointed me, and what I can do better right now. This my friends, is a year in review.
A month ago, I wrote about anxiety. I was in beautiful Beacon, having a lovely time, when I found an open few days in my schedule and slowly but surely sucked all the life out of them. And though I can talk about forgiving myself, attitude correction, and mindfulness and all these things are a great path out of something like that, I'd like to talk about how I got there, because I think it's a pretty common, rocky terrain. Multitasking. Personally, and I believe I'm not alone, I forget that multitasking is not a thing. Or rather, that it is a myth.
The myth of multitasking states that the more you can accomplish the better. It's a simple concept and one at the heart of America's enduring sense of yearning. But of course, when you multitask, not only can you not actually accomplish multiple things at once (but rather can quickly jump between things), but the quality of your thought and attention, and therefore the work on each thing, breaks down. I grew up my whole life being taught the value of multitasking and being told by my very smart and talented peers and teachers that it was the only way to get it all done. Cut to: reality. A man in a cute apartment in a cute town watching some cute pets, frantically trying to accomplish so many things that he is miserable and cannot enjoy any of it.
I’ve been working on my anxiety lately, which is something I neglect because I more often have to deal with the other side of the coin, my buddy since way back, depression. But my depression has been pretty self contained these days. A side effect of doing what I love, and also allowing myself to under earn for a time while I figure out how to make things work. Instead, of a quiet hum that whispers for me to crawl back into bed, recently there’s a current of worry juice running through me.
How do you manifest change in your life? It's hard enough to define change, because you know, it's one of the only constants of life. Because of that, I often only feel the chapter headings forming in my brain book when I feel saddened remembering some period from the past. Usually I see some landmark, be it a restaurant, or simply an intersection that I associate with some other time, and then my heart and mind leap. It feels a sort of loss, instantly that period is looked upon longingly. As well manicured patch of grass, amongst the otherwise overgrown scraggly mess of my mind, the dark and dangerous forest. As I've aged I've been able to identify that this worrisome wood is manufactured by the little devil in my brain. Lets call him Despair Daniel.
It's been a few month since I've stopped by the old blog, and I can give you some very good reasons why. But ultimately, I wish I hadn't stepped away. Even though this place can be more of a dumping ground for me than a place where I create sterling, thought-provoking content. It is a place where I can write what I want, and therefore be a bit more myself. So much of what I do for Shipwreck is about finding the customer. The difference between being a hobbyist stationery guy and being Shipwreck Press on its second year, is the transition from focusing on self (how can I be better, what do I want to make, am I challenging myself, am I good enough?) to focusing on others (what do people want, how much are they willing to spend, how do I market successfully, how do I get the cards in people's hands so they can feel how different they are, how much of my vulnerability and cluelessness do I show?) Where does the self live amongst all the other? It lives here. And in my private notebooks.
When I was a tot in Texas, letter writing always represented an ancient, almost mystical practice. It was something novelists, and thinkers, and the famous participated in. You could see them sometimes in plexiglass boxes at museums, but they were not something common to daily life. People wrote letters to the child they sponsored (but I believe used the term "adopted") across the three worlds. I remember constantly checking a book out of the library that had the addresses of companies that would send you free samples and stickers if you wrote to them. Thank you letters were to be written after every birthday and Christmas but I promise you I saw no magic there. But these felt like a watered down version. Real letter writing seemed powerful like another language. And it wasn't until I moved that I really tried my hand at it.
A place for product updates, inspiration, behind the scenes stuff, and in general a place for mind meandering.