fear of the idea itself
I don’t think writers have some special artistic burden in life. Their pains are just expressed more often and more clearly than, say, a postal worker (save Bukowski).
And I don’t know how anyone comes up with anything inspired unless it’s, like, 2AM.
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There’s a moment, sometimes multiple, when I come face to face with the idea that I, to some degree, birthed.
The emotion arising is a mixture of fear and relief, because I realize something so terrifying and true about it, its relevance to my own life; the ease with which we use nostalgia to hide from what’s happening before us, today.
But I don’t believe the advice to ‘live in the present’ is a sufficient antidote to being a ‘golden age thinker’.
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Whether I was aware, I don’t know that I would have chosen the topic unless there was some fear of it.
