Sitting with my spirit-guide, P.S.W. Gear, in a strip-mall artisinal provisions market (say that five times fast, hipster), the conversation turned to thought and meaning.

Cynicism is the ugly end of the spectrum of criticism, with critique—being constructive—the opposite.

A lot of my struggle to create is based in cynicism. I’m cynical towards others and myself, because I am disappointed in my own productivity and others’ productivity is a reminder of my own failings. That’s a huge admission for me, I write it lightly, but it doesn’t come so.

Failings is a bad word. It’s not a failure to not be in a productive state. It’s a failing to think that unproductiveness is a perpetual state. It allows us to excuse ourselves for not fixing what is blocking our output. “I have writer’s block” is assigning a mystical force to a self-inflicted wound.

It’s a very tightly-coupled feedback loop. We discussed a friend of ours who could be the P.G. Wodehouse of our generation “if only he could…”, but won’t because he is far too gone into the fields of cynicism about the “mendacity of society.” A musician friend who could make a big impact in the indie music scene if he just got over his hatred for pop music long enough to show up and participate. A public works specialist with brilliant insights into making government work but has given up and sleeps at his desk because “government doesn’t work”.

Hopefully, I can remember to make beautiful things. We’ve hit our quota on ugliness. I know I will have more rants like “Gmail is a Usability Nightmare” in the future, but maybe awareness is the first step to recovery, ya know?