There are times when I feel as though I have nothing good to say. Nothing worth noting. So I don't write. It isn't so much a writer's block as it is just a loss of words, a blankness. My mind is just empty.
There are other times, though, like lately, where my mind is too full. My whole being becomes saturated with ideas, opinions, songs that are stuck in my head, images from film and television that I play over and over again in my mind. I feel so wholly and completely filled up by sensory intake that I don't know where to begin. I can't figure out how to expunge all these thoughts, these images, these sounds, and they almost start to suffocate me. It is like they all just clump together in my mind and I can't separate one from another, can't put any of them down on paper. I can't make sense of what I'm thinking.
My dad, for as long as I can remember, would organize his thoughts into diagrams. At the dinner table, when explaining some complex theory or some new idea that he was planning to present to one of his classes, he would draw figures on paper towels. Three squares all in a row, a line connecting each square to the one before it. Or sometimes he'd draw a large triangle, and within that triangle would be circles and each circle would contain a word, some representation of a larger idea. It never made much sense to me when I had a mouth full of pasta and couple of TV shows that I was worried about missing, but it makes sense to me now.
I have never been a math person. I don't like numbers, equations, complex algorithms. I never saw the value of learning algebra. I remain certain that a calculator can easily do all the math I'll ever need. I like to think in words, not numbers. But I see now the value in math. I recognize its ability to structure and organize a complex world. Squares, triangles, circles on a piece of paper towel, are all just basic geometry. Simple math that creates a sense of order in disorganized world of words. Thoughts go into boxes. Ideas and opinions are grouped by theme, connected by a line drawn from one square to another. This is what I've done, taken the jumbled mess that was rolling around in my head and organized it into diagrams. I can see it more clearly this way. I know now exactly what I'm thinking. It helps to look at my thoughts in this ordered form, each square a different project, a different starting point.
And from this brief foray into the world of math, I have developed a better sense of how to handle my complex world of words. Separation. I have decided to create different spaces for different kinds of thoughts. Thus, from this point forward, this blog will be for creative writing only. Poems, stories, novel excerpts. Feel free to track my progress here. And for other writing, to know what I am thinking, or what is going on in my life, I have created a new blog.
I am hoping that these changes will help me make sense of my own thoughts and keep my head from becoming a jumbled mess. I am hoping these changes will keep me writing and prevent another hiatus.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Speed of Life
"Slow down, you move too fast." -Simon and Garfunkel, Feeling Groovy
It can be very hard to remember that you still have your whole life ahead of you. I think that as we grow older, we become more and more programmed to think of life in terms of deadlines, due dates, benchmarks. We focus so much energy on the short term. Gone are the days of "when I grow up, I'm going to ____." Grown up time has arrived and the predictions I once made as a child have yet to come true, and I suddenly feel so rushed to turn my once desired future into my realistic present.
Sometimes I forget that I am only 22 and that I have more than enough time to become who I want to be. But still, every little decision, every single small change in life's trajectory, just feels like a land mine waiting to explode. In the last semester of my college career, I decide once and for all that I want to be a writer and KABOOM, it's like the last 3 and 1/2 years have been blown off of my life and I'm back at square one. My degree, which I've worked so hard to earn, qualifies me for nothing. And I feel like the clock is ticking down, and I'll never make up for this lost time. I've got to prove I can be a writer. Get the stories down, edit them, rewrite them, submit them for publication, get my portfolio together. And all within enough time to avoid being the oldest student in a Master's writing program--assuming I can even get into one of those. I read somewhere that in 2005, a 10 year old girl became the youngest published female author in history. I'm already 12 years behind her, and there's no way to crawl back from that kind of deficit.
I'm definitely not alone in my feelings here. Nor am I a part of some small, anomalous group. A friend of mine who is in her last year of college is currently feeling a similar pressure. She suddenly feels like the plans she's had all along are no longer the right plans for her, but she isn't sure what the back up should be. And I somehow come out looking like Confucius in this situation, passing on wisdom and advice that I myself find difficult to take. Then there's my sister, still only a college sophomore, but already feeling like she's running out of time. Does she take the path of creativity, further support and develop her inspiring talent in the field of art? Or does she choose something more "intellectual"? Pick a degree path that self-righteous engineers and biophysics students wouldn't deem a complete waste of time? There's no right or wrong answer here, no sure bet. If she doesn't nurture her creative instinct, will she lose it completely? And if she rejects a more traditional academic training, will she be completely shut out of the job market somewhere down the road? The answer to these questions is somewhat akin to a shoulder shrug. Who knows? Anything can happen. There's no real way to tell. And in the end, it probably doesn't make a whole lot of difference. A degree in Sociology isn't going to make her any less talented as an artist. And a degree in Art of course won't mean that she's devoid of intellect. My sister is who she is: smart and creative; she'll always be that way. And a Bachelor's degree in any field is still just a Bachelor's degree: it only gets you so far, eventually you'll need a little more. And by the time eventually rolls around, you're sure to feel like you should have reached this point years ago, no matter what decisions you made way back in sophomore year.
But there is something to be said for just taking your time and waiting for the eventual. It took my brother nearly six years to graduate from college, and he's no worse off for it. Switching from music to anthropology half way through, he studied things that he found interesting, developed a sense of global cultural awareness, a curiosity about life and the world. Now he lives in Prague teaching English, and sends our family emails that are so funny and creative, I want to read them again and again. Maybe his life is not yet perfect, and it is taking time to adjust to living in a foreign place; but eventually he'll feel more and more settled. It takes a little time and there's no sense in rushing what you can't control. When you're just learning the language and you're so far away from home, you have to take things as they come. Because in truth, life is a gradual process, growing and changing over thousands and thousands of years.
This is what I am trying to remember, to convince myself of. That progress, whether evolutionary or personal, has its own natural time line. And if I die tomorrow, and an after life exists, I'll more likely think to myself, "I wish I'd eaten paella one last time," than, "I wish I had majored in creative writing so that I could have gotten an entry level position at a publishing company and seen first hand the process of turning pages into books." I'm more likely to wish that I would have kissed Daniel goodbye in the morning, rather than wish that I would have completed my first novel.
I am trying to remember that life is about more than just finding a job, excelling in a career. It is about loving people, helping them when they need your help. It is about feeling connected to family, despite the distance between you. Life is about living each day one at a time, taking each moment as it comes, and not forcing it to turn into the next. And sometimes, when you are trying to become a writer, life is about creating time that otherwise doesn't exist. About developing new space, new years, new lives. I need to stop racing through my life, rushing to become who I want to be. I have the entire past at my disposal, and endless future that I can create. I just have to put it down on the page. Let it develop on its own, in good time. I'm only 22; I have my whole life ahead of me. Besides, if I accomplish all of my goals in the next ten years, what will I have left to look forward to? That could make for an impossibly long lifetime.
It can be very hard to remember that you still have your whole life ahead of you. I think that as we grow older, we become more and more programmed to think of life in terms of deadlines, due dates, benchmarks. We focus so much energy on the short term. Gone are the days of "when I grow up, I'm going to ____." Grown up time has arrived and the predictions I once made as a child have yet to come true, and I suddenly feel so rushed to turn my once desired future into my realistic present.
Sometimes I forget that I am only 22 and that I have more than enough time to become who I want to be. But still, every little decision, every single small change in life's trajectory, just feels like a land mine waiting to explode. In the last semester of my college career, I decide once and for all that I want to be a writer and KABOOM, it's like the last 3 and 1/2 years have been blown off of my life and I'm back at square one. My degree, which I've worked so hard to earn, qualifies me for nothing. And I feel like the clock is ticking down, and I'll never make up for this lost time. I've got to prove I can be a writer. Get the stories down, edit them, rewrite them, submit them for publication, get my portfolio together. And all within enough time to avoid being the oldest student in a Master's writing program--assuming I can even get into one of those. I read somewhere that in 2005, a 10 year old girl became the youngest published female author in history. I'm already 12 years behind her, and there's no way to crawl back from that kind of deficit.
I'm definitely not alone in my feelings here. Nor am I a part of some small, anomalous group. A friend of mine who is in her last year of college is currently feeling a similar pressure. She suddenly feels like the plans she's had all along are no longer the right plans for her, but she isn't sure what the back up should be. And I somehow come out looking like Confucius in this situation, passing on wisdom and advice that I myself find difficult to take. Then there's my sister, still only a college sophomore, but already feeling like she's running out of time. Does she take the path of creativity, further support and develop her inspiring talent in the field of art? Or does she choose something more "intellectual"? Pick a degree path that self-righteous engineers and biophysics students wouldn't deem a complete waste of time? There's no right or wrong answer here, no sure bet. If she doesn't nurture her creative instinct, will she lose it completely? And if she rejects a more traditional academic training, will she be completely shut out of the job market somewhere down the road? The answer to these questions is somewhat akin to a shoulder shrug. Who knows? Anything can happen. There's no real way to tell. And in the end, it probably doesn't make a whole lot of difference. A degree in Sociology isn't going to make her any less talented as an artist. And a degree in Art of course won't mean that she's devoid of intellect. My sister is who she is: smart and creative; she'll always be that way. And a Bachelor's degree in any field is still just a Bachelor's degree: it only gets you so far, eventually you'll need a little more. And by the time eventually rolls around, you're sure to feel like you should have reached this point years ago, no matter what decisions you made way back in sophomore year.
But there is something to be said for just taking your time and waiting for the eventual. It took my brother nearly six years to graduate from college, and he's no worse off for it. Switching from music to anthropology half way through, he studied things that he found interesting, developed a sense of global cultural awareness, a curiosity about life and the world. Now he lives in Prague teaching English, and sends our family emails that are so funny and creative, I want to read them again and again. Maybe his life is not yet perfect, and it is taking time to adjust to living in a foreign place; but eventually he'll feel more and more settled. It takes a little time and there's no sense in rushing what you can't control. When you're just learning the language and you're so far away from home, you have to take things as they come. Because in truth, life is a gradual process, growing and changing over thousands and thousands of years.
This is what I am trying to remember, to convince myself of. That progress, whether evolutionary or personal, has its own natural time line. And if I die tomorrow, and an after life exists, I'll more likely think to myself, "I wish I'd eaten paella one last time," than, "I wish I had majored in creative writing so that I could have gotten an entry level position at a publishing company and seen first hand the process of turning pages into books." I'm more likely to wish that I would have kissed Daniel goodbye in the morning, rather than wish that I would have completed my first novel.
I am trying to remember that life is about more than just finding a job, excelling in a career. It is about loving people, helping them when they need your help. It is about feeling connected to family, despite the distance between you. Life is about living each day one at a time, taking each moment as it comes, and not forcing it to turn into the next. And sometimes, when you are trying to become a writer, life is about creating time that otherwise doesn't exist. About developing new space, new years, new lives. I need to stop racing through my life, rushing to become who I want to be. I have the entire past at my disposal, and endless future that I can create. I just have to put it down on the page. Let it develop on its own, in good time. I'm only 22; I have my whole life ahead of me. Besides, if I accomplish all of my goals in the next ten years, what will I have left to look forward to? That could make for an impossibly long lifetime.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
