The Hopeful

While looking for images to post today on my blog, I first had to ponder what the subject would be.  Not an easy feat for someone like me, whose mind is chock full of random thoughts, and I am humbly out of practice with this writing thing.  I came across this image below (that I believe is linked to someone's polyvore page, named zeph?  I want to give her props, so check it out – the title above should be an active link to her stuff.)

  

 

Well, this isn't to say that I feel hopeless.  To the contrary, actually.  After our recent heatwaves passed (with temps of 90º – 105º last week, ugh!), something opened up in me.  I had been feeling far too distracted, stunting virtually every project, not yet realized.  Frustrating, indeed!  But somehow, when the heat subsided, I experienced what seemed to be this emotional awakening in me, where I was gathering momentum and inspiration.  Obviously, it was a huge relief to not feel so blocked creatively, while I slowly began to practice my crafts of writing, reading, communicating, and simply observing.  I never realized how much stillness, and quiet are required for such undertakings.  And I hadn't realized just how cluttered my life had become with the tedium of daily buzzings to and fro, phone calls needing to be made, dozens of tiny follow ups for work that never felt quite resolved, leaving me frazzled.

 

Writing (or reading) could have been a catharsis, but instead, I gave way to the void of the devoid. (Does that make sense?)  My mind, my life, became flooded with refuse from requisite living, the inescapable 'have–to's' in my life, while the 'want–to's' went by the way side.  The richness and luxury of the imaginative elements having been unfairly bullied by that damn analytical facet.   (That ego-inflated, narcissistic, practical side!  Who invited him?!?)

 

Yes, my life was like public school in the mire of a financial crisis, where music, the visual arts,  and creative writing were the first to be cut.  I felt bloated and malnourished on my regiment of inactive physical activities, and primitive professional squandering posing as false academia.  Perhaps you can understand the mounting solace when such improprieties can be overridden, and more of a balance struck in this modest life of mine.  It's laughable that I mistakenly think that these moments of equilibrium might be longer standing plateaus, as if I can now coast from here on out.  And every time I find myself enjoying this fleeting symmetry, I think I need to further remind myself that while evenness is impermanent, it can be the goal.  I can *strive* to maintain the balance that becomes  self-sustaining.  And truly enjoy the richness of that vibrant, worthwhile life when I grant myself the time to *want* beyond simply satisfying the necessities in life.  

 

I *want–to* write.  So, I will…