The hardest part of writing, for me, is trying to understand myself well enough to articulate it to someone else.
This is a lot harder than one would imagine. We short-lived humans change, physically and mentally, every single day of our lives, yet the patterns we develop paint the appearance of consistency. We meet the same people, have similar conversations, perform similar tasks, and go to bed thinking of ways to do it even better tomorrow.
But come across the slightest change to that schedule, and you’ll feel it. The quickened pulse. The heightened awareness. That electrifying jolt of curiosity which overwhelms all other thoughts in your mind until satisfaction washes it away.
That, I believe, is the moment of change. The powerful, yet quickly forgotten sensation of perspectives being widened, of synapses forming in the brain to hold new information.
This happens more often than we realize, which is what makes writing so hard. Just when you think you’ve gotten a handle on your own thoughts and beliefs, life happens and changes them while you’re not looking. Suddenly, you’re staring at a blank page, wondering when exactly your train of thought got derailed.
I experience this so often that I’ve become suspicious of anyone who claims to have hold on the “truth,” especially when that anyone is me. I’m racked with doubt during every waking moment. Writing is the only time I feel I’ve caught up with myself, yet the victory is always temporary.
How would you feel if every time you put pen to paper, the words you wrote became false the next day? 1 + 1 = 2? Today it equals three. Tomorrow, it’ll equal Banana.
It’s a maddening exercise. And yet, it’s one I hold to be more valuable than any other, for with doubt comes freedom. Freedom to believe that which makes sense to you. Freedom to hold true to values that may not fit a given mold. Freedom to create your own reality, and give others the chance to see something completely new.
I can’t purport to have all the answers on how one should live their life, though I’d certainly like to. The world is such a beautiful place, I think it’s a crime that some people can live their entire lives without leaving their home town. People always talk of vacations as if they’re escapes, places to go for a week or a month to “recharge the batteries.”
Not so for me. My body aches to wander. To see people and places that lie beyond the local horizon. I could care less about starting a family, saving for retirement, or buying a house. Our world is shrinking by the day and I don’t want to waste another minute not plumbing its depths. The short time I spend at home, working and training, that’s the vacation for me. Life waits impatiently in the traveler’s boots.
When I tell people about leaving, they always get that far off look in their eyes. “Yeah,” they’ll whisper, “I’d like travel abroad one day. After I retire, though. There’s simply too much to do right now.”
It’s a line I’ve heard so often, from people in their 50’s and 60’s, that I can’t help but feel that they’ve wasted the precious little time they have on this planet. I’m both saddened and infuriated, cursing the society we live in that tempts us with cages of plaster and carpet, chains of chain restaurants, pounds of debt and the shackles of obligation we willingly place upon ourselves, so eager to give up our freedom for comfort.
And yet, I recognize that by tomorrow, those words may very well collapse under the passage of time. Just today, I spent my morning helping a friend’s family move from one house to another. In the process, I saw how powerful the familial bond can be. It is one thing to criticize an idea. It is quite another to see it fully realized.
Doubt yet again creeps into the recesses of my mind, and so I find myself once more at the keyboard’s touch. A series of letters, listed in some random order, waiting to be pressed into understanding. Waiting for me to understand me.
The answers, as always, remain elusive, and so the endless hunt continues. Passion drives me forward like a rocket into the night sky, flashing in brilliance before losing itself in the stars. And there, among the heavens, I wait. I reflect. I change. I live.
Read my words, dear readers, and embrace them for what they represent: A brief, fleeting moment in time when all the world falls into place.
That’s all for tonight.