Sometimes when I sit down to write the words just roll off my fingertips and I?m all [i]clackety-clacekty-clacking[/i] on the keyboard, with enthusiasm like the first time ever ate ice cream. Other time, not so much. It?s unpredictable. More often than not I find it pretty easy to just get going, but sometimes I find myself just sitting here, fingers ready to go, the desire to write, but yet I can?t seem to find the words.
In today?s blog I was going to write about one of those pet peeves oSometimes when I sit down to write the words just roll off my fingertips and I?m all [i]clackety-clacekty-clacking[/i] on the keyboard, with enthusiasm like the first time ever ate ice cream. Other time, not so much. It?s unpredictable. More often than not I find it pretty easy to just get going, but sometimes I find myself just sitting here, fingers ready to go, the desire to write, but yet I can?t seem to find the words.
In today?s blog I was going to write about one of those pet peeves of mine, as last night Liz and I were coming back from the supermarket, and this guy blew a stop sign. Granted, he wasn?t speeding?he just kinda rolled through it?but he startled me nonetheless. So we got into a little bit about who was right?a few f-bombs were lobbed both ways?and I was going to go on this who tirade this morning about responsibility and care for our fellow citizens and all that.
It?s one of my things. As George Carlin says, he learned the secret of living a long time ago: [i]Not dying[/i]. I second that motion, and I find that drivers who ignore stop signs, as if they?re optional, kinda goes against the whole not running me over thing.
But I just wasn?t in the mood to get into a whole thing. I didn?t want to get myself all riled up again over what turned out to be a lot of hot air. Liz and I were fine. We moved on.
Instead, I found myself sitting here at the desk, thinking of what to say … and I just sat here, my fingers bouncing in place, tips on the keys, but not able to channel my thoughts into words. And it wasn?t so much that I was stuck; I wasn?t set. I wasn?t connected. My physical body was present; I was ready to go. My energy was good. But I had that sense of trying to remember someone?s name, when you?re telling a story, and you?re snapping your fingers and rolling your hands like that will make the name suddenly pop into your mind, and you?re going, ?[i]oh, you know who I mean, the one with the uh … who always … oh, you know … the uh … tsch … sigh … you know, the one, I uh … uh … um …?[/i]
And you feel like the name is right there, and try as you might you just can?t get your brain going. And it?s not that you?re running through various thoughts and rejecting them. There?s [i]nothing[/i].
That?s how I was just moments ago, with this utter lack of understanding of what to do next. My energy was flowing, but my rhythm was on pause. Not broken, not stuck. Paused.
The words were there?deep down I felt I had something I really wanted to write?but I couldn?t reach them. They eluded me. And this is frustrating, as a writer, as it?s my instinct to communicate with you. To say something.
Yet this elusiveness turned out to be a great reminder about the value of silence. Of how just sitting still and letting that silence, that magic?sprayed on me like a mist?holds the key to everything I want to say. It?s all up in the ether all around us, and sometimes I just need to sit quietly, patiently, and let it come. And as soon as I let myself fall still, when I let myself embrace the silence, rather than just trying to fight my way through it, the words came.
These words that you?re reading now.
And this process is something I?ve learned to trust. Usually. I try not to get too frustrated when the words elude me, because I know they?re out there. It?s just that sometimes I need to remember that I can?t [i]make[/i] them come. I have to relax, find the quiet, and [i]let [/i]them come. And when they do, it?s magic.
Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/23 05:13
