My First Confession

This is my very first post on my very first blog. I titled it My First Confession, though I won't be confessing too much at this point. I'm a newbie, so please give me time to grow. The world of blogging is new to me, and I hope to discover all its joys and perhaps learn some new things about life and the others who are living it, too.

I am filled with many emotions these days--confused at times, and also sure at times. Being firmly planted in midlife and looking toward the horizon, I'm squinting to see what lies over there just beyond next week, next year. Day at a time, so to speak, with some healthy anticipation at what tomorrow might hold.

I am feeling philosophical today. In fact, I feel philosophical most days. I want to write about my feelings and opinions. I think it will help to keep me balanced.

One confession I have is this: I really don't know where to start, but I don't think it's that important anyway. I've kept so many thoughts inside of me for so long now that I'm afraid they will come spilling out randomly. Better let me take a very long and deep breath before I get started....


I have always believed that I can express myself better through writing than through conversation. I've always known that deep inside, but until recently I haven't taken advantage of this method of self-expression, and I don't really know why--what's been holding me back. I am a good listener most of the time, although I can easily let you think I'm interested in what you're saying while my mind is completely off in another dimension. I'm bad about that, and I have to work on it. But generally speaking, my preference is to listen rather than to talk, so I guess that makes me a better listener. Because I have been such an ardent listener all my life, I have a lot of lost ground to cover, so if I ramble at times, please forgive me that, as I'm sure things will improve over time. But then, if I need to ramble, I will. Consider this your official advance notice.

I'll try to keep my thoughts from straying too far. Seems I am already making some confessions in spite of myself. Oh well, good for the soul, and all that....

I recently discovered the joy of writing kind of by accident. Up until just recently I have never thought much at all about writing anything. I grew up in a musical family, full of singing siblings and grownups, piano players and teachers, rehearsals, choirs and choruses. Music has been a part of me as far back as I can remember, and it's always been my friend. It's been a great comfort in my life, not so much in the performing of it, but I've found that in the listening is where I derive the greatest satisfaction. When I'm feeling especially down and out, all I have to do is dig out an old song, one that has brought comfort to me in the past, begin listening to it, and all my ugly feelings fade away. Music has the greatest power imaginable to do this. Many people don't realize it, but just pay attention to your mood the next time you're listening to a favorite tune. You can't help but feel better. So, I use music--and old movies--to soothe and calm me whenever I need it.

For a long time I tried to use my music to express who I am, but that hasn't worked. I have always been a reluctant performer. This may stem from piano recitals when I was a kid, where I was always worried I would forget a note or phrase, and wind up embarrassing myself in front of my parents and fellow students. It happened once, and the memory remains. It took a while to get over that stomach-knotting recital, and the thought of performing any kind of music in public ever since then has kept me secretly dreading any and all performances. I do find, though, that the better prepared I am, the less I am likely to experience any dread. I played piano professionally for ten years, and none of it was easy. It was often very lonely, too. Preparation helps. Practice, practice, practice.

Of course, practice and preparation applies to writing as well. As I sit here carefully composing this blog, I am constantly editing and fine tuning almost every sentence. I can't help myself. Writing anything at all is an act of creation for me. I love English. I adore hearing words beautifully spoken and correctly written. I treat language with as much care and tenderness as I would treat any Standard American tune I was arranging and playing on my piano. Language deserves as much attention to detail as we can give it. God knows it's shredded and disrespected enough in today's media. I'm tired of seeing it treated so poorly, so I'll do my best to give it the respect it deserves.

Well now, I have already preached a sermon on English. I didn't mean to, but I have strong feelings associated with it, and well, I guess you'll just have to put up with me on that.

This is enough for my first offering. I have a short essay on camping and the joys thereof almost ready to post. It should show up soon. And after that I'll tell you how I got started writing way back in 1964 at the most tender age of nine, and how that very first piece of writing made it into the local newspaper.

Thank you for reading.

Dan