a human being is nothing but a story with skin around it - fred allen
do you ever have those days where writing comes at you like one of those continuous drips from a fountain - steady, consistent, almost annoying with its persistence in being heard? yeah. this past week has been the complete opposite. there have been moments, like the other night when friends stayed until 5 in the morning talking about doubt & fear & hope, where my intrinsic writer has been like, "write this down! remember it! take this moment & lock it deep inside where you won't ever forget." but then life gets in the way & so you think you can dance beckons me from the tv...oh wait. perhaps i shouldn't have admitted that. oh well. there it is. we all have our faults, & spending time watching people lose themselves in dancing is one of mine. because i understand. i know what it's like to lose yourself in your thoughts with music blaring. plus i love to dance & secretly imagine myself as part of Adam Chu's dance crew & the league of extraordinary dancers (LXD for those who know...)
well. quite the...bunny trail there. moving on. basically, what i am trying to say is, forgive me if this post is a bit erratic. too many thoughts in a writer's brain equates to moments of sputtering attempts at blending words into a meaningful post.
so what has stopped me from writing? well. i've been reading. i've read almost five books since summer started, and the inspiration to write teeters every now & then, ranging from screaming hot fire inside me to just a slight ember waiting to be lit. so, it's not like i haven't been...productive...i guess you'd say. more like distracted.
i've been distracted with work. i'd be lying if i said i was remotely excited about returning to where i have been teaching. i love the people there - i do. but i feel as though i can't truly MOVE forward unless i sever all ties. truly let go. you know, not drive 45 minutes every day to walk on egg shells around your boss & wait for the next story of the next person who has been fried under her scrutiny.
i've been distracted by ideas. someone needs to start developing some type of sticky note system for brain waves. i have so many ideas stretching to their limits bouncing inside my noisy head it's hard to focus at times.
i have so much more inside of me. so many ideas & hopes & dreams...so many questions & concerns. the fact i haven't been able to land a job here almost legitimizes some of those doubts i hear creeping in the corner - you aren't worth it, they say. and i so know this is false, & i know there's a job out there, regardless of whether it's new or i find myself making the daily trek to where i've been for the past four years. it's just a daily battle, you know? and to make matters more complicated, the woman who has mentored me the most these past couple of years - the one who has been like my mother in terms of teaching & battling parents & coming into my own - calls while i write this post. she is what makes the possibility of leaving the hardest. her belief in me pushes me to become something better. and i know, as i sit here talking to her, despite my desire to move on & pursue these dreams, leaving her leadership will be one of the hardest things i will ever do.
so here i am, in the middle of a coffee shop, hoping. waiting. watching. wondering where i will find myself tomorrow & the next day & the next...closing my eyes & breathing deep.
because it's the only thing i know how to do.
there are these things...these dreams...beckoning me. i long for others to realize their story means something. i long for others to hear the call for adventure inside of them & run towards it. so much for life filled with mediocrity - screw that. it's not how we are meant to live our lives. the quote at the beginning of this post? the one about humans being stories with skin on? it calls to the writer inside. look at those around you! it screams out at me. pay attention. listen to their story. it means something. they mean something.
this past year, i had my students write one of many self-narratives. you know the type - these are the essays students usually write the typical "i was at a party & made a bad choice & promised to never do it again because, gosh. that was so stupid!" and you know as you are reading the essay it's absolute poppycock because you just heard them talking about the party going down this weekend...& you wish for just a second that these kids would suck it up & be honest about themselves.
one girl was. in fact, she couldn't ever finish her essays in class because her writing was so heartwrenching & honest she had to take it home & reflect on it a bit. one day, her writing spoke of hope, or the lack thereof, & the fact that she didn't believe in herself. i pulled her aside & handed her a note that said no matter what she thought of herself or what others had said or would say, i believed in her. she came to class the next day & told me i was the first person who had ever told her that. she's 16! 16. this is why i do what i do. i have no other choice.
people need to know. you need to know.
your story matters.
...gosh. didn't mean for this post to be so introspective. but i guess i can't help it. i've been brooding for awhile, & if my old professor has any wisdom in writing, it's when we get most depressed that our writing becomes to most authentic...or something.
the coffee shop closes in five minutes & i still feel words pulsating their way through the crevices of my dusty brain. SARK's book, juicy pens thirsty paper, sits quietly waiting next to me.
perhaps i will let go of my thoughts for a little while & gain some inspiration.