J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

I've been doing a lot of reflecting lately. (Oooooo shiny!) Not THAT kind of reflecting, nitwit. As in the looking back on my life and thinking about Jack Handey, deep thought kind of stuff. ( You’re good enough, you’re strong enough, and gosh darn it, people like you?) Yes. I mean no. Well, wait…. Yes, I'm good enough and smar… Stop distracting me! (Sorry.) Grrr. Anyway, yes, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About who I am, what makes me happy, and to what end I should strive. Putting all of that down on the proverbial paper helps me to clear my mind and process the thoughts that keep me up at night. (Like why ostriches can't fly?) I, what? No! Well, it will now, dammit. No, I'm talking about the thoughts I don't want to think about. My faults. My weaknesses. My shortcomings. My insecurities. All of those things that make me second guess myself. I talk a good game sometimes, and write on these pages about how I need to

Ní bhíonn saoi gan locht. (Um, what?) There's no wise man without fault. (Ok….) It's an old Irish proverb, written in Gaelic. Even the wisest among us have their faults. So, if even wise men have fault, how can we be faultless when the wisest among us have faults? It's not our fault! (I, um, what?!?!?) Basically, nobody is perfect. No one. Not one single person. Not even Olivia Wilde. *sigh* Olivia Wilde…. [descends into daydream] (*ahem*) Sorry. No, nobody is perfect. Perfection is an unreachable, unattainable, unrealistic goal, yet too often we strive to achieve a level of perfection we simply cannot attain. The end result frequently sends us into fits of disappointment, self-loathing, and the occasional devouring of an entire box of thin mints. (I have never done that… *looks down and away with guilt*) Me neither. *whistling* Anyway, why do we always try to be so perfect when we're so perfectly awesome just the way we are? I c

There's one of those e-cards floating around the world wide interwebs that says something along the lines of "I want to run away more as an adult than I ever did as a kid." To that I say… Amen. This simple sentiment arises from the simpler fact that we work too much, too hard, and too completely. [Except for a friend of mine who has a gajillion vacation days. Said friend knows who said friend is. And gajillion is a word.] (No it's not….) Oh be quiet. You know what I mean. Anyway, we, and I feel comfortable speaking for the majority of you in including you in the "we" to which I refer, have developed an insane inability to relax. Why? I like to relax. Really, I do. I find it most enjoyable. Yet for some reason I seem to generally be incapable of the task. Is it some overbearing sense of obligation? Perhaps. Is it because I don't feel entitled? There's a bit of that, too. Am I a moron for failing to take advantage of the vacation time I have a

There is a certain strength in solitude. I know that now. For far too long that knowledge eluded me, but it is now a firm tenet of my life. One can learn a great many things in those moments when the company you share is yours and yours alone. Tonight I was able to make my first visit of the season to that place I call serenity Point - my happy place on the water. It is there where I have no other obligation than to simply be me. It is there where I can contemplate, or clear my mind. Tonight was a night of contemplation. I recently engaged in a conversation of which the topics centered on happiness, and regret. It was an exchange that caused me to really think and take stock of my life. Do I regret choices that I've made? Do I know what makes me happy? Have my choices precluded my happiness, or is it that what I thought would make me happy simply isn't meant to be? In my contemplation I've come face to face with my own hypocrisy. I am a firm believer that everything h

Do you know what you hear? Do you know what you see? Do you know what you want to be? Do you care where you've been? Do you care where you are? Do you care to travel so far? Do you feel the wind? Do you feel the rain? Do you feel the sting of the pain? Do you know how to care? Do you know how to feel? Do you know how to tell when it's real? Do you care to explore? Do you care to be free? Do you care to see through to me? Do you feel that sensation? Do you feel all the love? Do you feel it rising above? Do you dare to walk? Do you dare to try? Do you dare not run right by? Do you believe in truth? Do you believe in fate? Do you believe it's not really too late? © J.J. Goodman 2014. All rights reserved

As much as he tried to convince himself that he was a hopeless romantic at heart, the truth was that he was as skeptical as anyone else. Having suffered through his share of failed relationships, he knew fully well that the fairy tale was nothing more than just that – a tale. A story to be told to sooth the souls of those longing for love with the false hope that even they would find their Prince Charming or Cinderella. "Damn Disney," he said aloud. Then he chuckled. He couldn't blame Disney. He couldn't blame anyone but himself for what was missing in his life. Perhaps he tried too hard. Or maybe he tried too little. Whatever the reason, love had eluded him, and he'd decided to stop chasing it. These were the thoughts that filled his mind as he stood in line at the bank waiting to deposit the check his grandmother had written to him for his birthday. Every year, like clockwork, he received a card with a check for twenty-five dollars from his eighty-nine

I like to think I'm creative. Whether people are reading stories, songs or poetry I post here, or a simple, one-line Facebook status update, I am often asked how I come up with some of the things I write. Generally I have no better answer than to tell them "I just do." Thoughts and ideas fill my mind, I give them words, and I give them to you. That's it. One of the unfortunate side effects of possessing a mind that functions such as mine is the fact that it rarely, if ever, turns off. Like those of an automatic watch while on my wrist, my mind's gears are in perpetual motion. Constantly turning, never stopping, my mind races as if it fears it won't reach its destination unless it is running. I'm sure you can imagine that having such a condition is difficult at times. It causes lapses in concentration, lack of focus, and worst of all, insomnia. Last night was one of those nights. I lay in bed staring upward as what little light that trickled in fro