New year, new role in life?

That's the question that came up this weekend. Susan and I ruthlessly went through our closets and other assorted repositories of the physical representations of our memories this weekend, and gave most of them a big heave-ho.

Twenty-plus years of reminders of what we did went out to the curb. Almost everything that wasn't related to family or friends.

It's kind of a shame the weather wasn't cooler. There were enough awards between us, most of them wooden plaques, that we could have had a really good fire going in the fireplace for a day or two. And the boxes of clips, tear sheets, and pictures might have extended that a few hours.

The truth became pretty clear, when I looked at all of it together. I'm no longer the person who initially saved any of those memories. And, while I'm being that truthful, no one was going to care about any of it later. Those pieces and parts of my life were kind of like a real newspaper, except not as useful. When someone's done reading a newspaper, they can recycle it, line a box with it, or use it to pack for moving.

A new year is upon us and many of us seek to redefine ourselves with resolutions. Perhaps mine should be to find out what I have become. The greater part of my life was spent as a photographer. It took years for me to develop into a real craftsman, and even should I continue, it's unlikely I'll ever be considered an artist. No harm done, though. There's always been more of a need for craftsmen than artists.

For a lesser time I've been a writer and publisher, and though I've had a good moment or two, it's unlikely I'll ever make it to that vaunted title of wordsmith. I know it's just not in me.

Other jobs I've held have added a lot to my overall understanding of the human condition, as limited as it is. I've worked in fast food restaurants, at convenience stores, and was a draftsman for a while. I've worked in a pool hall and as a bartender, and worked as a machinist and a deck hand. I fashioned resin and fiberglass into large and small pipes and tanks for the chemical industry.

In one of the most interesting incarnations, I was the doorman at a dance hall. Talk about a study of the human condition.

Still, there's a need in me to create that one something that will set me apart from everyone else, though I'm more confused now than I've ever been.

A partial novel lies languishing in my computer, but it's probably never going to be good enough for publication. Writing poetry attracts me, but not the thought of being a poet.

It's still remotely possible I'll make that breakthrough from craftsman to artist as a photographer, but what then?

There are millions of people out there with digital cameras shooting almost everything that moves on the face of the planet. It's going to be a chore, coming to the surface in that ocean of pixels.

In reality, it doesn't matter whether or not I ever create my masterpiece, whatever it might be. I've had a wonderful and interesting life that I wouldn't trade for anything.

I guess my most recent role in life was becoming a grandfather for the second time. Being Ian's grandfather is something not subject to change and it didn't require much effort on my part. Just twenty plus years of blood, sweat, and tears, mostly tears of joy, while being a parent.

Perhaps who I am is what my first grandchild, William, calls me: His grampa in Texas.

I think I can handle that.