Journal Entry (Saturday October 29, 2022)
Poetry is not for everyone, it may not even be for me. I’m still trying to figure that out. After writing 365 poems in 365 days, you might think I would have something truly profound to say about that. Let me give it a try (no guarantee it will be profound). I enjoyed the experience, at times (occasionally) I even found it uplifting, was it the most passionate, rewarding thing I ever did, no. I will take a flawless run down Mid-Cirque at Snowbird over writing a poem, even a good one. Hell, I’d take that over writing a dozen good poems. Of course the catch here is there’s no such thing as a flawless run down Mid-Cirque, and likely no such thing as a flawless poem either. We are human after all. Even having tried more than 365 times to write a good poem. I came up short. I like to think that if I was lucky enough to get 365 attempts at Mid-Cirque, and the conditions were perfect for all of them, I might come close to a flawless run, but there is a wise voice inside me that says thou dost give thyself too much credit.