Oh, I enjoyed Christmas morning, enjoyed the gifts my parents could afford to buy me, but each year I felt deflated. If there was a toy I wanted, and I got that toy, then I would think, I really wish I had that toy instead.
One thousand twitter followers and I thought this morning, I need to get to two thousand.
My one hundredth blog post is coming up next Thursday, another milestone I had been looking forward to achieving. Somewhere in my mind I suppose I imagined that the bright shiny newness, or the act of possession perhaps, that would somehow transform me in a dramatic fashion. My writing life would be altered, I would be elevated to previously unimagined heights and life would be grand.
One thousand followers left me deflated; I was depressed.
Most of the day I moped inside, knowing the writing gods would not fracture my ordinary world with a big-ass lighting bolt, breaking open for me opportunity, fame and wealth. I was, I am, still me.
It's like I'm chasing Forever, finding only Now and somehow satisfaction continues to elude me.
You can't live like that.
I have met great people on twitter. I continue to meet great people. I need to remind myself that chasing milestones is not nearly as important as the people along the way. Numbers are meaningless in comparison to people.
And as far as lightning bolts and bright and shiny wonder toys? I need to remind myself that those things don't exist. There is no magic transformation, just hard work and to get that work done, a writer needs to keep a firm grasp on what is important and as I said, that ain't numbers, folks.
Never was, never will be.