Sense, Sensibility and a Whole Lot of Mental Clutter

I sometimes overhear parents having conversations with their children about how they can be anything and everything they want. This falls into cynical eavesdropping because though it sounds lovely, it is somewhat unrealistic.

But that last word, "unrealistic," also bothers me. Why is that I feel this way? Is it because I see and know many wonderful individuals who have oodles of talent, passion, drive and charisma and they still don't know what that "anything" is? Is it because it walls in potential and circumstance?

The more I think about it, the less clear the answer becomes. Perhaps we can be anything, but we need to narrow down that field. In a sea of endless opportunities (and by endless I of course mean there are parameters often dictated by socioeconomic conventions), where do we begin? I know what I don't like; I know what I am not the best or even good at; but, what I don't know is what I love so much and excel in to make me wholly fulfilled. I don't think there is a distinct quality that sets me apart, but I am also starting to realize that I am worth more than sometimes credited for.

Those encouraging words that first caress us are hard to find outside this family unit. Few people want to see you succeed and will support your journey to self realize, but those who do are absolutely priceless and often key pieces of an otherwise overwhelmingly confusing puzzle.

As you de-clutter through all the "right and sensible" decisions to find out what is right and sensible for you, you have to decide what anything means. Do you chase your dreams, whatever they may be, 24/7? do you balance your sensibilities with your senses in an effort to find material and spiritual wealth? what does anything look like for you? Perhaps the scariest step is seemingly the simplest: what does anything look like for you?

Sorry Janis but I Love the Rain at My Window

I really like rainy days.

I love the colours and the smell of wet pavement. I love how the greens and browns glitter with droplets. Perhaps, what I love most, is riding the train to and from work or staring out a window and creating intricate photographic scenes. Contrasts with reds, yellows and purples in umbrellas, rain coats and boots.

The promise of rain is ever so romantic. I imagine King Arthur's final moments as he heads to Avalon; Jane and Mr. Rochester as they bid each other a bitter sweet adieu; Lizel as she signs her 16 going on 17 heart out. It just adds a component of magic and wonder. A foggy film and falling crystals which make everything more beautiful and beckon interpretation. The constancy of the sound, the play of light, the smells of man made structures and nature.

Next time I'll get a sturdy umbrella and put these day dreamers into play.

Cautious Expectations

There are so rare pockets in time where harmony is achieved in almost every aspect of life. Work is bearable; your friendships are strong and uncomplicated; your relationship is totally synergetic; and, creativity is pouring. Each passing hour brings a sigh of relief because that balance continues.

Now, I could focus on the things that are wrong and could be better (I have a knack for that), but at the moment I cautiously dare to hope that the line between expectation and reality continues to converge more often than not. A tinge of optimism thrown in once in a while is a welcome change.

In Sickness and In Dreams

So this past week has week has kicked me to the curve with some type of cold / flu hybrid. Unable to eat, I have little strength and so I have napped a lot. This has led to some pretty interesting dreams, which I can't fully remember, but it has led me to believe that perhaps our dreams capture the residue of our desires. A type of liminal space where you are still you but without clearly defined boundaries.

You can explore all those secret inklings that would otherwise be frowned upon in the comfort of your bed...or coach, or dinner table (wherever you happen to fall asleep). The sweetest moment, at least for me, is the awareness of being in a dream because you can then control the situation somewhat. You can push yourself to run faster, swim deeper or fly higher. It is this type of liminal space where the heart and mind can work perfectly (or imperfectly leading to somewhat nightmare-like scenarios). Dependent and independent variables are then puppets of your subconsciousness. A type of perfect delirium and a source of inspiration.

In a round about way, being sick has forced me to rest. Rest has concluded in some odd combination of desire residue which have been, somewhat feebly, transcribed into potential short stories. And that is more rewarding than the copious amounts of chicken broth I have been consuming.

Mind my words

Though I try with great care to translate the ideas, thoughts, feelings and other abstract mind and heart matters into words (in the written or spoken form), I find there is a disconnect between the the initial concept and the final product.

Often times I feel the need to have disclaimer or post script explaining what I really meant, but the more words I tag onto this the more I believe I get away with from it. This frustration leads me to such great awe for those who capture feelings and thoughts so completely and accurately. Sometimes more is more and sometimes less is more for them. Whatever it is, they strike this balance of utter perfection and I feel that whatever tongue tied mess I can't entangle is literally ironed out and beautifully weaved onto the page, in the lyrics, on the screen and any other medium of self expression.

I appreciate all of this immensely. I revere the power of language and consider myself a disciple whose journey is perhaps longer than those I hold dear to my heart. And so, to read and to write is to breath for me. It bestows hope that each waking and dreaming moment is a summation of the potential that be.

Life is like a game OR life is a game?

We spend our childhood years building a mythology of what the "real world" is. In the real world, they tell us, deadlines are always met, dignity and respect is a code and responsibility is both thrilling and daunting.

Well, maybe the last one is a bit more on the money. After all, we make believe house, doctor, business and other "big people" responsibilities but can walk away when it's time for cookies and milk. Barbie doesn't pay bills, restart is a constant and a job is something you create as play. I remember being a spy, a vet and fashion designer within 24 hours.

I think the more I am in this "real world" the more I see that these mythologies are very ill founded. Deadlines are pushed onto others, dignity and respect are buzz words (with only a handful of people genuinely following the code) and responsibility is more daunting than thrilling (for the most part) as bills accumulate and time ticks much too quickly in the normative goal timeline.

Contradictions, pettiness, bullying and general animosity is more often the case than not. It seems the real world is a bigger sand box with much higher stakes. You have your bullies, your weird kids and the few cool cats you wouldn't mind sharing your juice box with.

If it's games we're taught to play in the cradle and then why are we dissuaded from pursuing them in preparation for the "real world"?

Think about it, our language is permeated by sport and game analogies and yet society denies this game playing. Why? perhaps because rules, team comradeship and referees are out of the picture (for the most part) as we enter this nebulous realm called the "real world." Each player is left to get to the finish line in whatever way he or she can. So fine, as they say, hate the game not the player.

Head and Heart to Paper

So I know I've been lacking disciplined in writing the blog. However, I have been thinking about multiple entries and ideas to explore. It's such a disconnect at times between my interior world and the dictates of the physical reality I inhabit on a daily basis.

Sneaking a moment to transfer thoughts to paper is proving a great challenge, but one I will not back down from. I remember meeting a Scottish Playwright at the University of Edinburgh who told us that you are a writer, even if you are only thinking about writing: you've fought half the battle. This philosophy leads me to believe that I have many halves which need to be integrated into a physical self. A paper and print self. And so, I cannot promise daily entries, but I will challenge myself to bi-weekly typing releases.

This week I was asked by a colleague how is it that my head does not explode? With all the random facts and knowledge I collect and with no outlet, she wondered this as I spoke 7 miles a minute. Perhaps the antidote to the sadness at a lack of creating and the pulsating pressure to share is to, very simply put, just write.