New Year’s Eve spent in Jutland, as far away from cracking fireworks as possible. Didn’t quite take to the unusual silence, the little one, had us up by the hour until the break of day. Heavy duty work, was pretty, well, fucked-up around the end of it. On the Eve in question, won’t linger by it. Champagne, a toast, salmon on white and etc. Pretty quiet affair. All as well. Hadn’t planned any greater use of it anyway. Went to bed around one, having spent the better of an hour comforting the girlfriend, so aware of the loss of her brother, poor girl. ~~~ Tomorrow two-thousand and five. Below follows the usual conclusion of the year past. Am hoping for a quiet year. Am hoping for a quiet day. ~~~ It would seem like it’s been ages and ages ago. Yet nearing the end of the year marks a trifle past nine months, and one cannot argue with a truthful calendar. Why should it seem so, as if entire years have come and gone in the span of those three quarters of a year, her age to this date? Ah, well, the obvious begs to be noticed; because a lifetime of experience in a hitherto unknown field has presented itself. ‘Unknown field’, an understatement. There is simply not enough time nor space to describe the blank page that was I before that fateful date: ~~~ I still remember it, vividly, and probably will until the day I die. Waking up from a restless slumper at two o’clock in the morning, weary from a tired day at work and going to bed at too late an hour anyway. The girlfriend in the shower, having already called the hospital due to stomach pains which wouldn’t go away, and never did until a day later. The time in between those two states: The hospital corridors, smell of linen, pastel colours. Professional staff. And the screams of agony and fear of the unknown and fear of everything and when was enough ever enough, only when they cut her open and brought out the child, our child, from the womb. Not being allowed to watch, probably for the best. Then the days ahead, spent at the hospital, thankfully. People, most of them capable, in and out, all of the time. All that new, so much of it, more than enough to rid me of the fear I still felt at the time, kept me crumpled up on that hasty couch-bed with enough thoughts to stuff a landfill during restless nights. Interrupted by the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, calling out in a basic need we managed to satisfy as best we could. And the church. Remembered best of all. Even now, writing this, the sincerity I felt comes to me, and brings tears to my eyes, if not in the same pure fashion of back then. Pledges I made in full light of their responsibilities and cost. Pledges I will not shame. ~~~ Then, the days, weeks following. The vague attempts to form some kind of routine, yet for every attempt that particular state has yet to manifest itself. I gather the benefit of having it seem like years and not months includes that grand peace-maker aptly named ‘forgotten’, as befits my experiences of the first three to four months. What is left is a notion of carrying the burden of a desperate child for as long as I was allowed this, before a troubled mothers’ frequent intervention. Overreacting? If I should, and I probably should not, speculate on this pattern, I’m sure my notes would describe someone realizing and recognizing a condition she herself suffered in her own babyhood. Be as it may, many arguments have come and gone, so have many of the doubts. I hesitate in pursuing them further than absolutely necessary (though at times I forget myself). I, for one, am not without fault, even if I find it difficult to admit to this. And of course I can allow her that same sentiment. We have been granted this blessing, now through our faults and lacking we make the best of it, and past the initial struggle our girl emerges as a wonderfully bright and apt student of life, of smiling and laughing out loud on behalf of that enthusiasm she comes across magnificently often. ~~~ The house, my God, there’s no getting past that subject easily. I procured that grand estate in September, in by far the greatest financial transaction of my life hitherto. Priced at some one point three million, I must admit the size of the thing probably more than fits the bill, so to speak. One hundred eighty square metres, to be no kind of exact, I never had so much space in my entire life, and thank the Lord above I have these two lovely ladies here with me to share it, or I’d probably go bonkers. Or at least see to it I got out as soon as possible. In hindsight, the move was right, and rightly timed at that. The tiny one is a much happier creature for the move, so much remains certain. The commute is long and will undoubtedly come to suit me better when the sun assumes control once more. And I am winter-weary if anything, yet there is also an appeal in getting on the tram and knowing that in a matter of minutes I’ll wake up some ten minutes prior to this destination. I like it here; quiet to the extend possible, a sound investment, financially and family-wise. Already an upstairs toilet has been established, no small part thanks to Dad stopping by during one great weekend in November. Learned a helluva lot from that session. There is something infinitely philosophical about him coming over and teaching me his tricks of the trade, even donating his old tools, worn but sturdy as himself. Mustn’t forget the long day both he and Mum stopped by. I’m granted valuable insight into their lives around the time of the experience which has come to me over the course of the last four-five years. Hardly a day goes by I do not learn something new and wonder as to how this life of mine reflects theirs. Such is the function of a house such as this – and theirs: to have us learn more about ourselves, where we come from and where we are going to, expand our knowledge of family and what power it holds. I do not believe in what they say, some, that a house can harbor a history. There are only blank walls to those who move in, regardless of whichever events might have taken place within. The history arrives with the new occupants. So does the potential for love, forgiveness, achievement, recognition, life. I would love to see her grow up in this house of ours. ‘Ours’ I say, despite the fact I was the sole signature on that deed. Why, to protect her, V, from the red tape and her personal horror which is the banking system of today. The only reason, of course not. Will I forever be bound by that fear of neglecting control? I hope so, in time. Single people shouldn’t occupy houses. I would’ve hated it, had I been alone still. Too much space. Too much wasted potential. Too much of anything. As fate would care, I am not in that position myself, and know where to direct my appreaciation of’t. ~~~ I do not have to concentrate hard, to hear the walls echo with her screams of despair, of learning of her brother’s premature death. Even as she left, driving to see her parents, the rooms felt desolate, unforgiving. And I carried the toddler for an hour and a half before she finally stopped screaming, surrendering to some kind of sleep. Her tiny breast heaving for air, she was so upset. Behind that hour and a half, the days on Funen. The arrangements, all those details. The church, so stocked not one person would’ve fitted in further. All that emotion… I will not ever be in a position to feel what she felt, nor fully comprehend what he meant to her, in light of their history as a family. What I can only do is support her in her endeavors to straighten out a meaning in all of it, claim some of what’s been taken from her. Other than that, my part is to learn as much as possible from that brother of hers, see to it his lesson is not wasted with me. As far as I gather, a valuable knowledge of putting life to the test, not by fearfull stunts rather with an eye towards a carefree attitude, which may at first seem a reckless way of living yet in hindsight offer so much to those around one. The Lord knows these kind of numbers amassing at a funeral tells of one to gave as much, if not more, than he received. If I, in a far future turn, might sport half
that crowd, I would be a rich man. His lesson is an imporant one, and I have acted on it, and taken steps to graduate from it. Makes so much sense to me now, where before I held fear of inadequacy would’ve prevented me from that personal initiative I shall undertake next Summer. Ah, make no mistake, the fear is still there, only with his passing I find it was amplified, significantly so. Given the anxiety-attacks prior to and because of becoming a father, I must add how his death, seen in a utterly selfish light, had severe elements of bad timing to it. In his lessons of life, there is of course also a lesson of death, of the consequences hereof. In this case, as I guess is always the case, these is more to think of than I can bear. Life is frail, yes, still we try and convince ourselves of the opposite and only hope we sometimes succeed. We even manage to save ourselves into a finansially sound future age, fully aware of that frailty. A frailty which has the power to rob us of our loved ones. I would be a liar if I were to say I do not everyday harbor the notion that when I get home from work, the girlfriend has taken a fall down the cellar stairs and the consequences are final. Or the little one has swallowed a tiny piece of whichever gets stuck in her throat. Those kind of things. Of course a newborn, if I may, father suffers this kind of thinking. Yet I have been close enough this year to one who died a death much, much too early for his age, to let not the above fear go as blissfully quick as I’m guessing most others would. It seems clear I’ll need to get better at it, for it’s a near suffocating thought. But I will. Given time I will. Already it’s not the kind of panicky sensation of the
first months of her existance, the darling girl. And as she grows older, and stronger, the helplessness about her will fade. There will always be concerns and worries and, yes, fear. I hope so, or my guard would’ve been completely laid down, and that’s not a desireable position, either. This he teaches me, her departed older brother, to look out for myself, care for my interests in such a fashion that others might benefit from it. ~~~ She still, through it all, suffers from her mother’s dominance, and the loss of her brother, son of her mum, has only enhanced this. I wouldn’t care to delve deeper into this – enough has been said and done already, the rest is repetition on a theme. I remain myself affected by the situation, in as much as said mother has taken it upon herself to adopt yours truly into the family much on the same level as her two sons. This notion is near disgusting to me, yet ofcourse I treat it publicly with a mildmannered distance. I am the son of my mother and father, and anyone else even slightly indicating otherwise will find themselves less deservent of my time. The constant talk of her expectations of yours truly fathering more children is an annoyance I could certainly live without. It is not my intention to administer sanctions, only if she should choose to press her luck will I take matters into a hardened hand. I see her for what she represents, and it appears a tale of utter sadness. As best as I possible have it in my power, neither the girlfriend nor my lovely daughter will be much affected by it. I wonder if things might come to a head, her family-wise. The potential is definitely evident. There is enough material here to fill volumes, so I gather I’ll stand back and simply write them as they come, figuratively speaking. ~~~ “The project”. There will always be one, won’t there. I hope so. Should ensure there is always a bit of something to look forward to. Wife and daughter and family-life aside, I do find, I gather, the need to express myself creatively, and now it seems I have taken steps to go about that business. For how many years have I been writing, I forget the exact but know the number is approximately fifteen or so. And so now, three decades into my life, the need has become too powerful to overlook, and I’ll tend to it. Of course I will; it would consume me, otherwise. Not in a blast of hellish fire, it’s not that kind of curse; rather a slow drowning over the course of years and years. I believe if I were to never get this thing off my chest, I might still be a relatively happy man. I could go about my usual business, stay on the safer side of life and generally make sure I was out of harm’s way. Yet that would invoke the realization, some forty or fifty years later, of “why didn’t you…?”, and that would do some serious damage. So, once more I react out of fear. A recurrent theme with me, but we all do come from somewhere, don’t we. Would like to think I understand it, fear, better than most. I have lived with it all of my life; not the physical side of it, I was never scared of any given person or sudden violence, though of course I stay away from the latter as best I can. No, it’s more of a subtle fear, which speaks of loneliness, of powerlessness, of being denied control. So be it; if fear leads the way, I follow. Hard to tell where being constructive, being a producer, comes from. I do not react to my fear with anger, though it has, from time to time this year, demonstrated its presence. I’m not a natural leader, am I? I never did nothing but stand back and watch when I was a kid, and my early young age did not lend itself to a commanding voice. I think in equal part what I have picked up along the way in terms of rejection and watching others be the leader provides the answer. The first makes for a kind of anger which will manifest itself in this kind of subtle fashion, I think, find a place just beneath the skin and add an effect to ones reactions, and mannerisms. The second, well, many different voices blend to form a source of inspiration, I wouldn’t care to single any one out on behalf of the other. I do feel the need to allow Dad the greatest contribution, but in truth his was always a lesson of structure, of patience. Mum’s the greater donation, her do-as-you’re-told style of bringing us up is the basic confidence in whatever abilities as a leader I nurish now. So much to do, have barely scratched the surface. Many phonecalls must be made; a proper team assembled. Books read on the subjects of producing and directing, much knowledge by way of conversation and reducing terms into their basic simplicity. I do take a World of comfort in that I’m not going about it alone, and hope these fine individuals, who have taken the time to invest their energy in the production so far, have been truthful in their praise of the potential of the thing, based solely on a number of lines of dialogue and corresponding descriptions of action. With their support, I do not have to go through this alone, and I do not have to take the fall alone. And if by some miracle of good faith and decent hope alike we should come up with something which may bring out a smile and a laugh with our peers, I have so many people to share that miraculous feeling with. They are good to know, and given time, I trust I will be able to remain in contact with as many as them as possible, as the kind of friends of which no one cannot have too many but only too few. ~~~ Friends. I have expanded my territory in this regard, and remain a lucky man because of it. Every man could do with more, I for one has always been a slow starter. Yet now I include among my friends a few fellows more than proved the case last year around this time, and no harm herein is to be found. I remain a private individual, this much is certain. One who attempts to express himself creatively must to some degree do this in a solitary state of mind, and preferably space as well. I do not see myself become so socially absorbed I could give this up, this perculiar act of closing the doors behind me for the sake of allowing alla these emotions, these scenes and this dialogue, to be let out. It is simply such a powerful addiction, I would suffer withdrawels were I to do so. But really there is no fear of it; rather a enjoyment of a number of people I might call upon at any given hour, for their opinion in a debate, practical advice upon complicated technical issues, or simply an idle chat about the weather, preferably. ~~~ I think…If anyone around the start of this year would’ve come up to me and told me I was to know this range of interesting people in relation to initiating a film production of my own screenplay I would’ve had their heads examined. Then again, if anyone would’ve told me I would eventually head a film production crew, I would’ve had their heads examined. Then my own. What matters is that the decision has been made, and various parties are already involved – to the degree where I cannot call it off. Thank God so, or there’s a great chance I’d never get around to getting it made. The people I speak of are nothing short of marvellous, and the dedication has a tendency to rival my own. Nothing is of yet carved in stone, any part they may choose to play as far as the project goes is theirs to surrender yet, still I’m comforted by their efforts and only hope they’ll stay on board for as long as the thing may breathe. I look forward to getting to know them better, as well as those ahead who will join us, the team, in time for principal photography. ~~~ On the project itself, ah hell, there’s just no telling where it’ll end up. I’m still in the dark, here, barely clinging on to the wonderfully comforting words of those who have invested their time in the screenplay. What I can say is this: This is the time I possess the confidence which merits a task such as this. I don’t know where it came from. Of course becoming a father has a lot to do with it all. I’m sure other factors play their part as well. I won’t dwell on them. There is not the time. There is only a helluva long shot of a chance of a lifetime, of the kind of dri
ve and energy which needs desperately to be spent, lest the bearer should suffocate in his hopes and dreams. I do not believe my survival rests on the fate of getting this film shot; that’s a touch of drama for some screenplay or another. But I do solemnly believe the time is now, here, and I know there are some would meet the end of the span of their lives without seizing, for various reasons all highly valid, the day. Not me. I would not recognize a large part of the time ahead. Make no mistake, I work out of fear as much as everyone else. ~~~ About that fear. I think there is a distinct chance I’ll be scared for some time longer than I had originally thought. I no longer include the physical attacks; as they have seized in existence, or at least diminished to such extend I cannot take them seriously, most certainly not in any kind of comparison to the first, worse ones. I am, rather, speaking of a different kind of fear; also one who touches on the unknown, naturally, yet this time around not fear of going against my upbringing, rather of assuming control of someone else’s. She is, the tiny one, so innocent in this World, yet so seemingly – alarmingly – confident I’ll be there to guide her, comfort her and lead the way in the loving manner I intend to. And that, dear me, is a responsibility I willingly take upon myself, for I would not accept it on someone else and besides the honor is solely mine. But, but, but. I would be a liar were I to ignore the fear which automatically enters the equation. Fear of letting her down, first and foremost. Of not being there for her if something should go terribly wrong, and of course of being there if something does and I won’t be able to prevent or remedy the mishap. I
can’t really say which of the two is the dominant, only that I would care to see none of them fulfilled. They each, in their own right, offer an, let us say, interesting challenge. Certainly one which rivals that fear of letting down expectations as to myself. I will not learn to like them, but I will learn to live with them. I look around but seemingly no alternative presents itself. And I know by instinct it is so, therefore I will not spend much energy in further searches. I might incorporate them better into my life, the worries, which will from here onwards be my approach: To try and listen to them, allow logic and not panic to be derived from their presence. In short, make friends and not foes of them. I have still a lot to learn about what they are and what they can do, for and against me. All I can do to diminish their strength without chasing them away entirely. I am not quite satisfied with the outcome of that battle yet, still comforted by the trend in my favour. I remain new at this, and have no way of knowing the normal from the exaggerated, but I do know I can live with this fear, on this level at least. Should prove interesting, to see how it goes from here. I know others have done it, and cling to that, per my usual. ~~~ Also present, more than ever before so, is the fear of failing; falling short of a potential there is every bit of chance of deceiving in this manner. The “more than ever before” derives from the knowledge of the number of people already involved with this project of mine, of their expectations combined with my own; I would not only let myself down, if I were to give it all up. But really my fear exists on multiple levels in regards to fulfilling my personal dream, and they might all be concluded into one greater dread: that I do not have it in me, i.e., to carry the illusion of the dream into the realism of being. There seem so many ends to meet, and my newfound confidence is not enough to satisfy all of them. I suppose I only know how to cope with them one at a time, onwards and onwards until all appears in place. The analogy is a marathon run, where the miles do, despite their cruelty, have the good-hearted tendency to disappear behind you, as one progresses through the race. In this fashion I could at least attempt to drown out the fear with practical measures. Seems like the sensible thing to do, in as much as it will carry me further into the – potential – completion of the thing. An end of the fear? I would like to search for an affirmative answer, but I also possess the wisdom to deny myself the hope of a ‘yes’. In ways I am glad: I have lived with this fear throughout so long, I would feel as if I were missing a limb, were it to go away. And lest I forget the sharply tuned instrument I become when I am tuned to it, most eager to pick up crooked notes. I would go all out of sync, if I didn’t have it in me to be scared enough to stay sharp, alert, on my feet. No, I do not think I would like it much, if there was nothing at all to be scared about. It would indicate nothing to strive for, and I do strive, I have found, I do strive more than ever before. I continue to find stories to tell. I have tried but as yet failed to let them go, they are not willingly prepared to do so. What to do but allow them their say, their power over me, trust them as much as they do me. Despite the fear and agony they bring…. I have seldom felt more vibrant, more alive, and it’s because of them. I can – and will – handle being afraid, when the reward is the most thrilling time of my life. ~~~ Such concludes the year. I have not doubt there will be elements I have neglected, or even forgotten to mention. Such is the state of things, that I do not, per my usual, have so and so many hours of quiet contemplation to draw inspiration from. Not with a tiny toddler in the house. So the year’s final entry is completed over the course of several days, and not a single session. At any rate, I believe I came across the main subjects. The common denominator of which: ‘raising the bar’. At no other time in my life has so much been at stake, in terms of my personal and private and professional life. I have made choices I did not fully comprehend, but now live the consequences of. Life has taken me to school, and the lessons are tough ones, yet ultimately potentially rewarding. Already I have been rewarded, though possibly it hasn’t really sunk in. Another ‘possibly’: in time I will look back on this year as the one of the highest learning experience hitherto in my life. To add a physical analogy, before I ran marathon-races in the streets, now I have taken those activities to my mind in stead. What a perfect comparison, the notion arrived by way of perfect timing. I have yet to fail a marathon of which I crossed the starting line. Venue aside, I do not intent to start failing now. All the usual doubts are there. The pain, most certainly. But also the challenge – of the miles ahead, the body raising complaints yet being overrules by the mind, the added weight of the limbs. This time may be hard as hell, that’s truly the dominant sensation. And why not – the higher the bar, the greater the pain of the fall. I do not care to fall; I am not really equipped to handle it, and besides I never was very good at it. So why not forego the event altogether. That will be my aim – my finishing line of the new year.