I announced back in July that I was starting production on a podcast. The RedBeard Podcast is officially not happening. To use a film industry term, it is in development hell.
I had launched a GoFundMe to help me afford podcasting equipment that has exactly zero donations, and is now also shut down.
Why?
That’s an excellent question with multiple answers.
First: I am working on a book of poetry. I want to focus all my efforts on launching that book, and the podcast diverts attention away from that.
Second: anxiety. Every time I thought about the podcast and tried to start planning, I would flounder in a sea of negative thoughts and feelings. Like most people, I don’t like the sound of my own voice, and couldn’t imagine hearing myself speak, even just to edit the podcast. Beyond that, would I have enough to talk about? Could I sustain multiple episodes? What if no one listened? It became too much to endure, so I stopped thinking and planning. When that happens, it usually means I am headed down a wrong turn. The best way to recover an errant direction is to take the next exit to a new way.
Third: I have other projects I could focus on instead. For example, my wife started a book last November and this spring I began to help her edit and expand the text. I put that project on hold and have yet to reactivate it. That is something that I want to finish so that it too can be launched into the world. I also have photography, painting, and other making to do. All of those take time, and podcasting would be a huge time commitment with planning, recording, editing, and publishing. Even with one episode a month, as previously planned, I could see the podcast absorbing all my available energy and time. And I don’t like being tied down like that.
Fourth: finding a voice. I mentioned a bit ago that I had anxiety about the topics, and that is part of a larger problem. I had not found a Voice, no point of view that felt like it needed to be amplified. I do not represent a segment of the world population that needs to be projecting itself. That is not to say that my words are not valuable, or that I do not deserve a say, or anything like that. What I mean is that there are too many people who resemble me already speaking. I would be taking air time, however minuscule, away from other voices that do need to be heard. Until and unless that changes, I should work to amplify their voices instead of launching my own.
One of my heroes, Wil Wheaton of Star Trek and geek fame has done what he calls a Radio Free Burrito for years. It is like an itinerant podcast. It comes and goes, popping up whenever he has time, or desire, to record something. He releases one whenever he feels like it, with no set schedule or commitment. Maybe The RedBeard Podcast, when it finds its Voice, could be like that. It could sneak up on you, be present, and then fade away until the next appearance. I remain fascinated, despite everything, with the idea of an audible medium of expression. I find it hard to think that I would never do something in that space. Now is apparently not the time, so the idea will be put on hold.
It is ok to start something and never finish it. I was taught, either outright or by example, that Not Finishing was a Bad Thing. There are many reasons why I was taught this, but suffice to say, I don’t think it is always healthy or agreeable. As I said earlier, I was a taking a wrong turn and all that will get you is lost. Sometimes it’s ok to quit, to let something die, and go on to something else. Pruning a withered tree limb is healthier for the tree than allowing it to continue to support something dead. Whatever the metaphor, quitting is sometimes the best course of action. On that note, I am quitting my never-started career as a podcaster. Thanks to those who encouraged and helped me thus far on the journey. I do appreciate the insight and support, even it ends here. Knowledge gained is never lost, and can always be alternatively applied. So I will take what I have learned and move forward into other avenues of expression.
Thanks for listening.
