“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.” Albert Einstein
I don’t remember when I started writing this. It’s been a while. But I’ve kept it, because I wanted to remind myself that my days of depression are fleeting. And that yours can be as well. Let me know if you can relate. I’m holding out a handful of hope for you.
The not-sleeping-thing should’ve been my first warning sign, but I ignored it. Then I lost my notebook. And I lost my words. And everything moved like molasses in my brain.
Now there is today and it won’t go away. “It” being this fullness on my chest–this want to sleep the day away–hide from whatever it is that has my heart pounding like it is–my heart so fast and my brain so slow.
I haven’t felt his way in a long time… But I’ve felt this way for years. Distraction is my best friend. Distraction in writing, in singing, in doing something other than looking inside. It’s a shame that creativity necessitates introspection. That’s just my luck. So, I go looking for distraction. She either writes or runs. Today she wants to run.
She’s fighting the instinct to curl up deep down inside herself and hide…. hide where the quiet is. And where the words are. The real words. Not the other words that are made up and saved up and played up.
But the real words don’t come easy. And they don’t write easy. And they don’t read easy. The real words bring release and reflection, but introspection isn’t always the best method of chasing it all away. Sometimes it’s best to hide from what’s inside until it quiets down, chased away by sunshine and vitamins and balance.
So where do I hide?
Distraction.
There are still days, and when those days come it feels like forever. I’m so glad that it never is forever. And I’m so glad that those days don’t come nearly as often anymore.
Hope.
There are words.
And sentences.
And paragraphs.
And pages.
And chapters of our story…
that are written by us.
Read carefully, and we will see that the pen of someone else’s hand is putting many words in place–especially key moments of drastic shift and change.
Their handwriting, their fingerprints, their influence are all over our pages.
And, while we think we are writing our own story without consequence to others, we are actually shifting and changing and writing theirs as well. Our handwriting and fingerprints and influence are all over their pages.
Art begets art. Life begets life. Story begets story. It’s impossible to live a silent and impact-free life. And it’s impossible not to be impacted by others. Life is one big collaboration. The story will go well for us if we keep an open mindset of cooperation.
I woke up re-reading the current page of my life–with relationships and phone calls and prayers and ideas that shift and turn my story. I feel both powerful and powerless, at the same time.
But one thing I’m thankful for, I’ve got a few great writers in my life. And I want their words on my pages.
Do you have any great writers in your life? And are you giving them room to write some of your story? And who’s story are you helping write right now?
Great art rarely happens by accident. And neither do great stories.
1) Walk. Run. Slide.
2) Consciousness. Unconsciousness. Subconsciousness.
3) Rat, Spider, Roach
4) Text, Email, Phone
5) Highways, Dirt Roads, Hiking Trails
