Burnout

Nobody will read this. Nobody will hold it against me, or be moved to inquire further about it. So I shall, for now, use this space to lament. If you know me and you actually do read this, please do me a favor and inquire further. Merely knowing somebody heard these words will mean a lot to me.

Yesterday, I was given the responsibility of coordinating a dance. I am usually an integral member of the team that makes it happen anyway, and we already have plenty of infrastructure set up. I've had a hand in every single part of that infrastructure, so I know it inside-out. All I would need to do is get our team of usually-upbeat people to fill the same roles they usually fill.

Today, all of that's been done. But it's looking apparent that this will not resemble the well-oiled machine I helped design and execute five times. Instead, I have no clue how it'll go. All but three of the roles will go to new people. Every single other veteran will be missing that night. There has been dancing every single week this quarter, meaning people might very well be all danced out and choose not to come--hell, if our own internal attendance is any indicator, we're $$#%ed.

I shouldn't worry about these things, but I'm so fragile right now that I'm letting it convince me that I have the touch of doom. In my current state, I feel as if I have never, to my knowledge, shepherded anything with a lasting legacy. All the things I build survive while I am there, sometimes even shining brightly. When I leave, they seem to invariably wither away. It makes my heart ache, and I take it personally--I feel as if I have no ability built a lasting legacy of any sort.

In some cases, the very organizations that I place my heart and soul into nurturing are the ones that end with a whimper. The multimedia club I started in high school imploded spectacularly. I take full responsibility for that, and learned a lot from it. My fellowship disappeared; I was the last remaining one, and I feel responsible for accelerating it towards its conclusion. My guitar classes never scaled, and my students, while happy with what they've learnt, haven't become better than I am. My worship nights never got more than two people. The christian gathering that we spent a full two months building emerged as a glorious affair...but it soon faded away, never sparking the unity among fellowships that we were striving for. I will persist with the Dinner Club, but I worry that it won't gain the momentum I want it to have, and will be but a pale image of the grand sociological experiment I wished for it to become.

Needless to say, this has me scared. Very scared. There's a part of me right now that's insecure enough to believe that I will never be able to build anything; that I will merely scatter seeds everywhere, and that no matter how hard I try to cultivate them, they will never grow. Because I just don't have that gift. Because I don't have the power to create...only to destroy.

Yes, I know I am not of sound mind and body as I write this. I know I'll eventually stabilize and stop being so hard on myself. There's counterevidence to the charges I have brought against myself, and I'm aware that I'm discounting it. I suspect that my current reaction is, in some sense, the product of a wild ambition to leave a lasting impression on the world, and that I should not be abandoning that fundamental desire to do great things.

A visiting preacher at our church once pointed out that most of us were probably afraid that the things we do would screw up God's plan for the world. He countered, "who are you to think that you have the power to stand in the way of God's will?"

I remember that from time to time. I remember to say "not my will but yours be done." I remember that in the grand scheme of things, I could very well become one of those essential cast members that history forgets to chronicle.

Can I be comfortable with that? Should I be comfortable with that? I don't think I'm in it for the fame, for getting my name on a building or whatnot. Two generations later, if what I create is still cherished and valued, I don't mind if people remember the creation itself and forget me entirely. Heck--I'd probably prefer it that way.

...I just want to know that what I create is not doomed to turn into ashes.