I've always wanted to write a book. Moreso a screenplay, but I believe I'd need some program to make it easier. Shorthand has occurred to me, but it's 2019 and I'm no freak. I am but not in that way. I've actually had a mental block as of late, but not with writing. I've actually been writing blogs like crazy, then deleting them. This blog; my blog, was always more about mental self-preservation than it was about being noticed. In the past few weeks, I've written more about efficiency vs inefficiency, the beauty of pregnant women, some thoughts on prayer, a supervisor's immaturity and need to be liked, my own personal state, the empty bucket list, and even the definition of love. I've deleted them all, either because they are too personal or they might be viewed as an attack on someone's character. I'm used to people attacking my character, so you'd think I'd be OK reciprocating, but I keep reaching to be better. Plot Twist: It's always, just out of reach.
Writing isn't something I feel I'm good at, but it's something I can relay my thoughts with. I don't use big fancy words and I'm not overly descriptive, so while my point is taken, it's rarely an art form. Writing as art is something I've long debated, and I'm not sure whether I was right or wrong. Hell, I don't know which side I'm on. I guess if we view art, both creating and enjoying, as an escape, writing is one of the highest art forms, but it takes active participation and unlike most other art forms, time.
We humans, stress way too much about time. We endure traffic, but enjoy that same quiet time, listening to music, alone in our thoughts, on a beach or a sun-lit room. We wake early to wait in line for coffee and a bagel, cursing every moment, when half the time could be spent at home, then enjoying it without the rush. We arrive late to places we're judged for our tardiness, but show up early for dinner, then complain about the wait. We cherish the seconds holding a baby, but ignore the hours they spend in their room when we're older. Our time at work is the burden of all burdens, but for most of us, when we are lucky enough to have vacations, we do what we could do if we were home. For most of us, what we would do after work or on a weekend. A restaurant, a movie, sitting by a pool or body of water. All the things many of us do regularly. We never take this precious time to really connect, because we crave some relaxation we already have. Stress?
Is it stress that conflates the need for time and our ability to waste it on the mundane? I recently overheard someone speak of their vacation. Movie theaters, sitting by the water, and restaurant chains. I smiled, lied about it sounding wonderful and then asked them what they did when they got back. They spewed out, "We got back Saturday, so Sunday, we went to see an early show of Avengers, had lunch by the lake, then went to Chipotle for dinner." I smiled, again, or maybe it was a smirk, at their indifference or lack of awareness, that they'd spent hundreds of dollars the week before to do exactly what they did the day before, at home. Time well spent or time wasted? Do we ever think about how we spend our money in terms of time? And I can point this ridicule at my own life, when I view my low paying job in terms of time. How do I feel about a night out drinking, knowing those three hours of smiling at strangers, occasionally some banter, and the promises to the bartenders to see them soon, has cost me in money, what was a day of work? Sometimes I feel good and other times I don't. How do we feel about where we live? Renters are hit with this much more often, when the idea that two weeks, maybe more at work is equal to the ability to live where they live. Are they happy? Most work with one intention; To move, even if only for a week.
So why is it that some days, when we do something we do every day, feels like an eternity, while others breeze by? Why is that smile from someone you see every day worth more on Friday than on Monday? Why do we chose routines that bring us no happiness and why do we choose to repeat them when we're away or given opportunity? I do not mean all of us. Some of us have the time, the opportunity, and the wealth to choose variety, but rarely do they. I keep telling myself I don't have the time to sit down and write something substantial, when the reality is, I have nothing but time. So many are always checking the time. as if the world changes that much when whatever time they are waiting for appears. Maybe it's because I work with children and there is some sadness to leaving, that I view time differently. Maybe it's becasue there is no joy in eating meals alone, sipping a cocktail in solitude. Maybe it's because most of my friends, those who I can connect with, even without speaking, are either gone or hundreds of miles away.
When I think about the last time I wrote, cried, laughed, had a great time, and felt completely content, even happy, it feels like forever. Even though each and every one of those feelings and emotions happen to me, all of us, every single day.
Writing isn't something I feel I'm good at, but it's something I can relay my thoughts with. I don't use big fancy words and I'm not overly descriptive, so while my point is taken, it's rarely an art form. Writing as art is something I've long debated, and I'm not sure whether I was right or wrong. Hell, I don't know which side I'm on. I guess if we view art, both creating and enjoying, as an escape, writing is one of the highest art forms, but it takes active participation and unlike most other art forms, time.
We humans, stress way too much about time. We endure traffic, but enjoy that same quiet time, listening to music, alone in our thoughts, on a beach or a sun-lit room. We wake early to wait in line for coffee and a bagel, cursing every moment, when half the time could be spent at home, then enjoying it without the rush. We arrive late to places we're judged for our tardiness, but show up early for dinner, then complain about the wait. We cherish the seconds holding a baby, but ignore the hours they spend in their room when we're older. Our time at work is the burden of all burdens, but for most of us, when we are lucky enough to have vacations, we do what we could do if we were home. For most of us, what we would do after work or on a weekend. A restaurant, a movie, sitting by a pool or body of water. All the things many of us do regularly. We never take this precious time to really connect, because we crave some relaxation we already have. Stress?
Is it stress that conflates the need for time and our ability to waste it on the mundane? I recently overheard someone speak of their vacation. Movie theaters, sitting by the water, and restaurant chains. I smiled, lied about it sounding wonderful and then asked them what they did when they got back. They spewed out, "We got back Saturday, so Sunday, we went to see an early show of Avengers, had lunch by the lake, then went to Chipotle for dinner." I smiled, again, or maybe it was a smirk, at their indifference or lack of awareness, that they'd spent hundreds of dollars the week before to do exactly what they did the day before, at home. Time well spent or time wasted? Do we ever think about how we spend our money in terms of time? And I can point this ridicule at my own life, when I view my low paying job in terms of time. How do I feel about a night out drinking, knowing those three hours of smiling at strangers, occasionally some banter, and the promises to the bartenders to see them soon, has cost me in money, what was a day of work? Sometimes I feel good and other times I don't. How do we feel about where we live? Renters are hit with this much more often, when the idea that two weeks, maybe more at work is equal to the ability to live where they live. Are they happy? Most work with one intention; To move, even if only for a week.
So why is it that some days, when we do something we do every day, feels like an eternity, while others breeze by? Why is that smile from someone you see every day worth more on Friday than on Monday? Why do we chose routines that bring us no happiness and why do we choose to repeat them when we're away or given opportunity? I do not mean all of us. Some of us have the time, the opportunity, and the wealth to choose variety, but rarely do they. I keep telling myself I don't have the time to sit down and write something substantial, when the reality is, I have nothing but time. So many are always checking the time. as if the world changes that much when whatever time they are waiting for appears. Maybe it's because I work with children and there is some sadness to leaving, that I view time differently. Maybe it's becasue there is no joy in eating meals alone, sipping a cocktail in solitude. Maybe it's because most of my friends, those who I can connect with, even without speaking, are either gone or hundreds of miles away.
When I think about the last time I wrote, cried, laughed, had a great time, and felt completely content, even happy, it feels like forever. Even though each and every one of those feelings and emotions happen to me, all of us, every single day.
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