I’m not what you’d call a savvy investor. I mean, I’m not going to get rich playing the markets. But I’m at the point in my life where I have (a) a retirement portfolio that has a number worth my time to be actively thinking about (b) a 20+ year time horizon to play within and (c) a bit of slush on the side to play with. So, thanks to plummeting oil prices over the last couple week (and while everyone bemoans the coming collapse of our local economy) that aforementioned portfolio (despite feeding it very regularly) looks like it’s back in it’s summer wardrobe. In other words… it’s been shrinking. Gee, thanks stock market. But thanks to points (b) and (c) above, I’ve been doing a bit of what’s (apparently) called “averaging down”… upping my investment inputs as the market falls. Carefully, of course… but still getting bigger lumps of new shares in my RRSPs on discount. Buy low, sell high… right? No really. Is this a smart thing to do, or am I throwing good money after bad?
I’ve not been writing here as much as I would like, I admit it.
I’ve also not been (a) working on my various projects, (b) taking very many photos (c) updating any of my other websites (d) reading or (e) following through on a small list of other personal commitments.
Sorry about that, I mean if you’re one of those folks who has been frequently visiting, reloading, and checking in. I’ve just had… things… distractions.
I’m hoping it doesn’t linger too long. But these types of things are unpredictable. Uncertain. Unique upon each and every emergence, and I don’t have a simple fix to thaw the freeze that comprises whatever delicate concoction of energy, time and creativity that fuels these spaces.
Occasionally, every once in a while, and usually more often than I’d be willing to admit, I let my ambition run away from me.
It usually happens around the New Year. A January One rolls around there is that omnipresent wave of idealistic endeavour that sweeps across my idealist-self and props me towards creative greatness. A thousand ideas flung against the canvas results in a few dozen sticking. They cling there for a few weeks and gradually, inevitably,time passes and a few slurp loose, cling for a few long moments on their cheese-stretching strands of glaring possibility, and then unceremoniously fall to the ground with the others.
What remains? A handful of ideas: the four or five good thoughts that continue on. Those will prosper. Those will linger. Those might see March or maybe even June. And perhaps one or two will make the cut through to next December.
Inevitably, I enter this slumping, sloughing phase in late January each year, and then humbly hide away in the shadows for a few days until I work up the words and the courage to face my invisible public and exclaim the reality that, actually, I don’t really have the time or energy to keep up the games… and that, yes, I’m just going to let a few of those globs of misshapen ideas lurk there on the floor until I get bored and irritated enough to sweep them up.
It’s the creative process, you see. And I need to work through it on a regular basis to retain what little remains of my faltering sanity. Hopefully that does it.