Just Sit Down and Look Around

FreeWrite 040709: “Just Sit Down & Look Around”

I usually do this at a coffee shop or somewhere where there are people, movement, something to observe. This time I am alone in my room and everything I see is stale, stagnant, lifeless. I hear the steady hum of the heater and the on again off again swishing of the washing machine in the next room. A few heavy steps of someone walking up stairs, the cracking sound of the house settling. It is far more dull and lonely in a place like this.

It amazes me though how this can, at times, drive me mad and at others be a total sanctuary. The quietness, the stillness, sometimes seems a breath of fresh air while other times it’s all together suffocating.

I find myself stuck a great deal these days. Like right now I am stuck, thinking way too much about what I’m going to write, which is really counterproductive to the whole “free write” exercise. I get caught in my thoughts and begin to censor myself before I even begin. I wonder how often my life reflects that.

I was so much more passionate when I was younger. I literally had paper and pen with me at every moment because I believed that inspiration could strike at any time and I wanted to be ready. I would scribble down random thoughts and observations and ideas, then write about them later. It wasn’t a hobby, it was just who I was. I couldn’t not do it. To not write it down was like holding my breath; eventually I had to let it out or I’d die.

Shakespeare was my hero. I could sit and read Shakespeare for hours. Sometimes I see his books sitting on my shelf and smile, remembering the times I used to get caught up in the plays. I think, every now and again, that I should read it just for fun. But I never do.

I love books. I love art. I love music. I have all these passions and talents that just go by the wayside and every so often I think about it with a sad, that’s-such-a-shame kind of feeling, as if remembering the loss of someone great.

I look around my room and see all these things that, maybe subconsciously, I have set up to remind myself of who I am and what I love. There are books everywhere of every kind that remind me of my love of learning, reading, writing, my love of story. The acoustic guitar that rushes up memories of a more passionate time, one in which I was inundated with all things music; notes, chords, theory, rhythms. It’s not my guitar; it belongs to an old friend, one of the best I have ever had. He gave me a book about freelance writing. It sits among all the other books but I pull it down every once in a while. Strewn about the room are various literary magazines, some I hope to write for some day. On one shelf sits all my movies and CDs with my Dave Matthews Band CD cover prominently displayed in the middle. Now that is an artist.

Of course there is also the Fresno mug to remind me that my roots are in the central valley of California, the silver pale of sea shells to remind me that my heart is still in the south bay of southern California, and a barrage of photo albums telling the story of all the people who have played a part in my life.

One would think that amongst all these things I would never loose sight of who I am, what I’m passionate about and where I long to be. I get side tracked though, every day it seems. I momentarily forget where I have been, why I am here now and where I am headed. And so I sit back down for a second and look around. Suddenly this suffocating stillness turns to a renewing breath of fresh air and I remember everything with a greater clarity and sense of hope and appreciation.