Daydream Believer

IMG_2581The post is late today. I’m bankrupt. Not financially, but creatively. I took the morning to sit in a quiet place and percolate with my trusty fountain pen, strong coffee, and anonymity.

Life happens, and I respond. It’s survival instinct. But after fight or flight, I shut down. Also survival instinct. The problem is my world doesn’t allow time for daydreams, so I push on until the well is dry.

This morning, like the Ella Henderson song, I went to the river to pray. For me, that means staring into space, listening for a silenced inner voice, moving my hand across a smooth clean page, indulging in the sound of my pen’s nib etching new ideas.

Will it work? Don’t know. What can I expect? Doesn’t matter. The important thing is to trust the process.

If you want to join me, here’s some mood music.

Ties That Bind

Some days I look for a story to fill the page, and I don’t find it. Today was like that. I moved from task to task, searching for a message. For words.

The day dimmed. Television boomed basketball. Crowd static behind the play-by-play filled my head with dryer lint. All that broken thread wound around my thoughts, trapping bits and pieces of nothing special in its web. Now it’s so late, I’m tempted to cut the floss away. Where are my scissors?

But then, I’d have nothing at all. Better to untie the knots, lay the string end-to-end, and recycle the yarn into something useful.

Looking Forward

clouds
Photo credit: George Crisp

In this moment, the promise of a new year is as tall as the thunderhead in the photo. Dense and electric and textured. All I have to do is reach out and grab it. The question is: why is seizing the day so hard?

Much is made of New Year’s resolutions. There are those who are into the anti-resolution, those who will only state their intentions, those who set goals, and even more who spend January 1 recovering from the final goodbye to the year before.

This week, I replaced all the photos on my inspiration wall with 8 x 10s of my favorite moments from 2014—vacation photos, vignettes of my starry-eyed teens, and a single shot of Bacon and I leaning against the sign marking the boundary to our personal paradise. They’re supposed to remind me of why I write. They’re my audience, but they also tie me to my comfort zone. I’m comfortable with my memories, even the miserable ones. Although it’s not on the wall, the cold night in the mud at the top of the mountain makes me wistful. After all, I lived to laugh about it.

It takes real strength to shove the clouds aside and focus on what’s ahead. Shaping the unknown into a new memory is the challenge of the new year. You’re invited to follow along. I’m sure to fall in the mud, but I’ll do my best to share a laugh about it.

Paradise
Bacon and I at the boundary of paradise.