It's certainly been a while since I picked up a pen for anything that wasn't necessary. the again, this may be completely necessary.
You know that box of love letters from your ex that you don't want to look at, but at the same time you can't seem to part with on the off chance that no one ever happens to love you again? The box that you shove so far under your bed that you hope you will forget about it so it can never conjure up those feelings that you've been run over by a truck and have a hangover all at once? Well, that box is precisely where my will to write has been. This is partially because I can never produce anything that will be good enough for my insatiable need for perfection and partially because deep down I was afraid of what might come out if I did put pen to paper. Denial is easy when the thoughts are bumbling around in your head. Putting words on paper and making them tangible and visible with your own two eyes makes the whole denial thing much more difficult. And so, I put writing in that box and pushed it under my proverbial bed and have not visited it for so long that there are quite a few cobwebs to clear off.
The sad thing is, I never forgot about the box being there. In fact, it occupied my thoughts often and was a source of guilt. Recent years have been quite the bumpy, back-country road for me and depriving myself the ability to write it all down was tantamount to purposely depriving my body of the cathartic medicine it so desperately needed to purge the toxins that life created. But, what's done is done and now I have all those shitty memories with no beautiful pained writing that can only be produced in times of crisis to show for them.
I am actually writing this as a blog, but I must write on paper first. Although widespread use of computers has been around for half of my childhood and all of my adult life, typing on a computer screen almost seems like a cop-out to me. I suppose I am somewhat of a purist when it comes to this topic because I believe that just as all the writers of yore, the battle between my thoughts and my pen should be fought the old-fashioned way. If I make a mistake I want to be able to see it and learn from it and meditate on my imperfection. This process is not possible with the temptation of the backspace button looming every time I doubt myself. backspace buttons, erasers, and white out are for the languid in my opinion. Besides, writing is ultimately a way to connect with yourself or others about this human experience. Life is not one smooth, perfect, word processed event. I will take my messy, hurried handwriting with its scribbles and phrases with lines through them and its interjected words squeezed in any day because that is a much more accurate description of what I experience on a daily basis.
Figuring out that life is imperfect and broken plans is one of the hardest adult realizations to come to, while at the same time one of the most rewarding. I read something very profound in an interview with poet George Bilgere today. He said, " If you want to make God laugh, make a plan." Simple, yet incredibly poignant (I guess that is why he is a successful poet). It is so true! So true, in fact that the weight of this truth hit me over the head this morning and nearly knocked me unconscious. Just because I am sitting in the driver's seat does not mean I am the driver. That is deep. I am carrying out a series of events by proxy for the Force that IS doing the driving. The only one who NEVER has a problem seeing the bigger picture is in control. I am EXACTLY where I need to be. I needn't be concerned with comparing and contrasting my life with the people I grew up with or the people around me. there are no mistakes. Life's imperfection is actually perfect and now that my brain and my pen have lead me down the path to that conclusion maybe I can finally stop arguing with perfection and relish it.
I was truly sorry that I put my pen down for so long when I started writing this morning, but as I have just come to realize by midday- things will work out as they should whether or not they are on our terms.
Now I must bid my adieus while I confidently assure you that I will be back at precisely the right time. Whether the right time is tomorrow, next week, or another three years, I do not know.
I do feel that a burden has been lifted as my preoccupation for knowing fades away and allows room for the flexibility that learning demands.
the pistol
You know that box of love letters from your ex that you don't want to look at, but at the same time you can't seem to part with on the off chance that no one ever happens to love you again? The box that you shove so far under your bed that you hope you will forget about it so it can never conjure up those feelings that you've been run over by a truck and have a hangover all at once? Well, that box is precisely where my will to write has been. This is partially because I can never produce anything that will be good enough for my insatiable need for perfection and partially because deep down I was afraid of what might come out if I did put pen to paper. Denial is easy when the thoughts are bumbling around in your head. Putting words on paper and making them tangible and visible with your own two eyes makes the whole denial thing much more difficult. And so, I put writing in that box and pushed it under my proverbial bed and have not visited it for so long that there are quite a few cobwebs to clear off.
The sad thing is, I never forgot about the box being there. In fact, it occupied my thoughts often and was a source of guilt. Recent years have been quite the bumpy, back-country road for me and depriving myself the ability to write it all down was tantamount to purposely depriving my body of the cathartic medicine it so desperately needed to purge the toxins that life created. But, what's done is done and now I have all those shitty memories with no beautiful pained writing that can only be produced in times of crisis to show for them.
I am actually writing this as a blog, but I must write on paper first. Although widespread use of computers has been around for half of my childhood and all of my adult life, typing on a computer screen almost seems like a cop-out to me. I suppose I am somewhat of a purist when it comes to this topic because I believe that just as all the writers of yore, the battle between my thoughts and my pen should be fought the old-fashioned way. If I make a mistake I want to be able to see it and learn from it and meditate on my imperfection. This process is not possible with the temptation of the backspace button looming every time I doubt myself. backspace buttons, erasers, and white out are for the languid in my opinion. Besides, writing is ultimately a way to connect with yourself or others about this human experience. Life is not one smooth, perfect, word processed event. I will take my messy, hurried handwriting with its scribbles and phrases with lines through them and its interjected words squeezed in any day because that is a much more accurate description of what I experience on a daily basis.
Figuring out that life is imperfect and broken plans is one of the hardest adult realizations to come to, while at the same time one of the most rewarding. I read something very profound in an interview with poet George Bilgere today. He said, " If you want to make God laugh, make a plan." Simple, yet incredibly poignant (I guess that is why he is a successful poet). It is so true! So true, in fact that the weight of this truth hit me over the head this morning and nearly knocked me unconscious. Just because I am sitting in the driver's seat does not mean I am the driver. That is deep. I am carrying out a series of events by proxy for the Force that IS doing the driving. The only one who NEVER has a problem seeing the bigger picture is in control. I am EXACTLY where I need to be. I needn't be concerned with comparing and contrasting my life with the people I grew up with or the people around me. there are no mistakes. Life's imperfection is actually perfect and now that my brain and my pen have lead me down the path to that conclusion maybe I can finally stop arguing with perfection and relish it.
I was truly sorry that I put my pen down for so long when I started writing this morning, but as I have just come to realize by midday- things will work out as they should whether or not they are on our terms.
Now I must bid my adieus while I confidently assure you that I will be back at precisely the right time. Whether the right time is tomorrow, next week, or another three years, I do not know.
I do feel that a burden has been lifted as my preoccupation for knowing fades away and allows room for the flexibility that learning demands.
the pistol VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
When are we shooting??