Knowing vs. Doing
Maybe soon I'll write with a purpose in mind, but for now I'll press on: lack of motivation will no longer have a say on when and what I publish. *side note, I'm trying to confront reputation, but he plays a harder game...
That said (and published, mind you) I'm writing (and publishing) without a direction in the world; without inspiration, motivation, revelation, or any other "ation" you can think of, save for determination! However, I consent: you can only go so far without a point. Sure, you can start without one, but pretty soon down the path you'll run into that "what" you didn't know you were looking for. I reckon mine's just around the corner. What should I write about? What am I looking for? What might you want to hear (that's reputation talking, again)? What in the world.... Oh! I think I found something, or something found me.
"What is it, Rachel," you might ask. "Well," I might answer, "I'm not sure yet.... but let me describe it to you. It's big, it's blurry; it doesn't have a shape, but it's bigger than me. It doesn't really move, but I can't seem to place it. It appears neither ominous nor welcoming. I can't tell exactly where it's coming from, but it's definitely up ahead and it's headed my way... It's my future."
And with that, you have it, my topic: my future. I could write about my future indefinitely, yet in doing so I will inevitably write about my present and my past. My future, albeit foreign, cannot hold its own, it cannot build a fortress; It has no roots. My future has no roots because it cannot stay still. It is constantly moving from future toward present toward past. Why am I so afraid of something like that, something that doesn't even know how to describe itself? I don't know. I guess somehow I find the blackness, the uncertainty, disconcerting, since I can't seem to grasp it. At the same time, it is precisely uncertainty that allows the future fluidity. Uncertainty, then, is not something to fear, but to embrace. The future isn't like an advent calendar, you just open it up and see what happens. Instead, the future is more like a diet, you choose what you want today based on what you want later, and it will probably happen.
I'm trying not to be afraid of the future, of change, of sacrifice, or of ambiguity. I'm trying to be courageous, creative, and conspicuous.
"Conspicuous," you ask?
"Yup," I nod, "this time around, I want people to see me. I want to be noticed. No more hiding, no more running, no more blending, and no more crossing my fingers."
At this point, I hope you would smile, give me a thumbs up or a pat on the back, and say jovially, "best of luck to you, I'll be around." Perhaps even a few of you might walk beside me awhile, offer me a place to stay, or give me a piece of bread for the road. Regardless, I will walk. I will walk because I found it, that "what" I started out oblivious to. After I talk to my reputation, I'm gonna have to schedule a coffee date with my future...
That said (and published, mind you) I'm writing (and publishing) without a direction in the world; without inspiration, motivation, revelation, or any other "ation" you can think of, save for determination! However, I consent: you can only go so far without a point. Sure, you can start without one, but pretty soon down the path you'll run into that "what" you didn't know you were looking for. I reckon mine's just around the corner. What should I write about? What am I looking for? What might you want to hear (that's reputation talking, again)? What in the world.... Oh! I think I found something, or something found me.
"What is it, Rachel," you might ask. "Well," I might answer, "I'm not sure yet.... but let me describe it to you. It's big, it's blurry; it doesn't have a shape, but it's bigger than me. It doesn't really move, but I can't seem to place it. It appears neither ominous nor welcoming. I can't tell exactly where it's coming from, but it's definitely up ahead and it's headed my way... It's my future."
And with that, you have it, my topic: my future. I could write about my future indefinitely, yet in doing so I will inevitably write about my present and my past. My future, albeit foreign, cannot hold its own, it cannot build a fortress; It has no roots. My future has no roots because it cannot stay still. It is constantly moving from future toward present toward past. Why am I so afraid of something like that, something that doesn't even know how to describe itself? I don't know. I guess somehow I find the blackness, the uncertainty, disconcerting, since I can't seem to grasp it. At the same time, it is precisely uncertainty that allows the future fluidity. Uncertainty, then, is not something to fear, but to embrace. The future isn't like an advent calendar, you just open it up and see what happens. Instead, the future is more like a diet, you choose what you want today based on what you want later, and it will probably happen.
I'm trying not to be afraid of the future, of change, of sacrifice, or of ambiguity. I'm trying to be courageous, creative, and conspicuous.
"Conspicuous," you ask?
"Yup," I nod, "this time around, I want people to see me. I want to be noticed. No more hiding, no more running, no more blending, and no more crossing my fingers."
At this point, I hope you would smile, give me a thumbs up or a pat on the back, and say jovially, "best of luck to you, I'll be around." Perhaps even a few of you might walk beside me awhile, offer me a place to stay, or give me a piece of bread for the road. Regardless, I will walk. I will walk because I found it, that "what" I started out oblivious to. After I talk to my reputation, I'm gonna have to schedule a coffee date with my future...
Comments
Post a Comment