A few months ago I came to a stunning realization. It was one of those moments which felt eye-opening yet simultaneously a little depressing. That’s saying something, as I am depressed a total of about 22 minutes each year. While watch TV—a unique pastime, to be sure—I was racking my brain trying to think of the perfect type of business to start. First it would be a side project and, eventually, would allow me to depart my 7-5 desk jockey habit. Every personal and business development blog in my reader always suggested going into an industry that related to a hobby. This is where the depressing part came in. I realized I didn’t actually have a hobby. I’m of course making the assumption that weekend partying doesn’t qualify. Hell, I hadn’t turned on the 360 in weeks, so I couldn’t even count videogames.

Fortunately, finding a new activity isn’t difficult, even in Tallahassee. Sticking with it, on the other hand, isn’t as easy as one would think. I went deep sea fishing for the first time just after Grouper season reopened in March and have been out a handful of times since then. Fishing is an easy activity. All it requires is a collection of boat-owning friends and a little gas money at the least. If you’re fortunate, you compensate for the gas investment with whatever you catch. My first Grouper would have cost well over $50 at the grocery store, well worth pitching in for gas to the tune of $20. Granted, I haven’t caught much of anything worthwhile since the first day, but the sheer experience of being on the water, in the Florida sun for 5+ hours is worth any reasonable fuel donations.

In May, my parents came to visit for the Memorial Day long weekend. It’s funny to hear the day-to-day occurrences of a recently retired couple (though only funny the first half-dozen times) who don’t know what to do with all that free time. Fortunately, after about a 2 years of various busywork projects, my dad took up golf for the first time in over 25 years. I’m honestly surprised it took that long, as my assumption was if you were retired in Central Florida and didn’t play golf, they kicked you out. His excitement about playing and steadily improving inspired me to drag my beaten up clubs from the back of the closet. Now that I’m playing on a fairly regular basis, I have a newfound respect for even the average golfer, to the point where I’ll actually watch TV coverage (though only in HD … Goddamn, golf courses look beautiful in HD).

It’s tough for a competitive personality to really suck at something he enjoys, and I really enjoy golf. I love the days I show improvement, but I even derive joy from the rounds I backslide 4 or 5 strokes. The difficult part, I fear, will be when I really hit a brick wall and am not improving. That may be a year from now or it could be ten, who knows. I can say all I want that I just want to be average, and to shoot in the 90s consistently on public courses, but I know myself better than that. In middle school gym class, I would re-run races if I finished slower than someone I thought I should beat. It’s nothing against those people, but I’ve conditioned myself to be my biggest critic for 26 years, and that does not change overnight. Why the fuck would I want to change it anyway?

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Why am I reading this when I could be downloading bukkake porn?” Or maybe, “Why is this privileged middle class prick whining so damn much?” Ok, maybe I don’t know what you’re thinking. But I was thinking that, yeah, writing could definitely be considered a hobby. The problem lies in the following question, and the simplest yet most apt answer to it that I’ve ever heard.

Q: Why do we write?

A: We write because we have something to say.

This is why I haven’t posted anything in over a month. I haven’t had anything to say. This will change, as I’ll begin exploring different topics that inspire me to open MS Word. With any luck, something will stick and this site may *GASP* find focus.