If Holden is Catching, Who is Pitching?

I just finished re-reading The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger, which I originally read about 15 years ago during my senior year in high school. Though I now have multiple degrees and much more experience in life, I found myself relating to Holden Caulfield's life crisis: he is afraid to explore his potential to do good in life, but mostly because he's terrified his potential will not amount to anything and he will become the phonies he so detests. All he wants to do is "catch the bodies coming through the rye" so they don't fall off of an invisible cliff. I had these same worries when reading it 15 years ago, and find myself feeling very similar now at 30-something. I figuratively have the job Holden dreamed of: catching children coming through the school system cracks. But, I wonder: If Holden and I are catching, who is pitching? Is it time to be proactive instead of reactive? Logically I know it, but I'm having trouble motivating myself. It's that "goddamn fear" of potential, as Holden would say.

Cutting your hair short, isolating yourself, and generally finding distractions to keep you from focusing on real life: these are all qualities of a rebellious or unfocused teenager. However, these are all things I've done quite recently (as a matter of fact, in the past few days, even!), and in the words of a woman I used to work with, "I ain't no spring chicken anymore." I know that 30 is supposed to be like the new 20 and I am finding that some long-awaited insights about myself and life do come more frequently after I have left my twenties, but I am starting to feel "old". I don't think I've hit my "mid-life crisis" yet, but perhaps this is a "pre-mid-life crisis" or something along those lines. I know that 10 years ago when I first started student teaching, I could reference things like Debbie Gibson and Fragglerock, but now the kids just stare at me like I'm from another planet. Oh well, their loss, especially when it comes to Fragglerock.

Old or not, I do feel like there is some artistic potential lurking within me, trying to get out. At times, the potential just whines like an abandoned dog in the corner. Though I am dying to feed it and take it in, I know that if I do, I will be forced to spend a lot of attention on the needy little thing to tame it into a normal household routine so I don't lose my job (and so the potential won't piddle on the carpet). It has been too long since I paid any attention to this potential, so I am worried it might consume me at first and give me yet another reason to avoid the massive amount of take home grading in the never-ending pile of work. However, at times, my potential can also become a snarling wolf, demanding attention, regardless of my pleas and excuses. Lately, the wolf has emerged, circling me all of the time, whispering ideas for writing in my head or pictures to bring to life with a paintbrush or pencil. I have appeased the wolf a bit--tossing him a scrap of meat as I painted a sunset that had been stuck in my head for about six months, but he is now angry and foaming at the mouth.

This is strangely where my brother comes in. He is the one I have to thank for getting started with this whole blog idea. I really can't thank him enough (you rock, brother bear!). This idea is letting me bring that poor, whining potential into the warmth of my apartment as I sooth it by writing what has been chained within me for so long. I still don't know if this potential will surprise or disappoint me, but at least it is not snarling at me so much any more.