On relating in the present to bursts of enthusiasm from the past

I noticed a pattern in myself that goes back a long time. I get really excited about something. I decide to spend time on it. I spend some time on it, and it's fun and exciting. Then out of nowhere, and WAY too early, I get discouraged. I start to feel, like, what's the point of putting in the effort. And then as time goes by, I start to feel ashamed—ashamed that I had everything I needed to succeed, to keep up a good habit or a fun hobby, and I just didn't bother.

Do you ever feel like that? I honestly don't know if it's a common thing. The irony of it is that the accomplishments of my past, rather than filling me with pride, as often as not fill me with shame for not keeping them up. And that shame acts as barrier from dabbling again, a glass case around a stale artifact never to be touched again.

I can think of so many examples. Something as simple as Math and Physics—topics I spent thousands of hours studying with great enthusiasm as a kid and young adult—now just remind me of skills gone rusty and a paths that led nowhere. Meaningful friendships from my past, people I've lost touch with. The thousands of hours I put into learning Latin, German, Chinese, Romanian, only to never use them again. How much time I spent knitting for a while there. The hours I put into playing the clarinet and saxophone, classical and jazz, playing for myself or with others. Messing around a bit on piano and guitar. That old meditation habit I had. Rowing, swimming, running, calisthenics—since the end of high school, my exercise routines have been sporadic and fizzled out almost before they began.

Even this little newsletter, which I began with such enthusiasm and a goal to write every couple weeks. After a great start, I had a couple busy weeks, and then as time went on I created increasingly unrealistic expectations for myself about how good the next thing I wrote had to be to make up for the delay—neurotic stuff, I know!

Still, there is always hope. In the simplest sense, starting something again is always just one little choice away. I bought the book of jazz standards that I used to play from as a kid—The New Real Book—in C and Bb. So far I've enjoyed playing from the C-and-vocal version on the keyboard. Let's see if I crack open the woodwinds soon and use that Bb version. I have an old knitting piece that's fairly intricate that I started 6 years ago; maybe I'll start doing a couple rows here and there again. I can still find enjoyment in the things I put a lot into in the past, now, even if they never take up the space in my life that they once did.

And who knows. Maybe I'll start sharing a thought or two here every now and then.