Today I noticed while cleaning out my car that when I’m playing radio music, it pipes through into my trunk. I thought to myself “How nice of Toyota to think of the boredom factor for people I may abduct and keep there.” I spent a while trying to figure of the best way to tweet that and ignoring that possibility that maybe I’m psychopath. It was a moment when I asked myself the question I ask many times throughout the day “What’s the best way to word this?”
When I was in second grade we were given paper with lines on it and told to write a story. I picked up my pencil and wrote about the adventures of a white cat I had just imagined a moment before. I used up three pages, giving him sidekicks and goals and obstacles because that is what makes a story, I thought to myself. It’s the only real memory of I have second grade besides a song about Beluga whales that has no relevance to this topic whatsoever. This behavior continued, and every writing assignment became a new opportunity to string words together. Don’t misunderstand me, there were many assignments that were anything but fun, there were times when writing was like squeezing a dry cloth looking for moisture, but I think everyone feels that way, even a nearly professional nerd like myself.
When I was in high school and I would record humorous quotes and happenings in my margins of my notebooks, and even sometimes go home and rewrite these things down, rewording them for optimum communicative efficacy. I would read books and whisper sentences aloud, letting the words play on my tongue and hearing how they all fit together. Looking back, I realize I was preparing myself for Twitter. Don’t worry, I’m not about to launch into a sentimental piece about my childhood, but I do think it does every one of us some good to consider what we love to do and how we’re making room in our lives to do it still. For me, there was never a time when I wasn’t fascinated with synthesizing words together to make ideas, and find a way to communicate those ideas to others. I went to high school and wrote papers, I wrote for the school newspaper, I wrote fictional stories on the side in my spare time and showed no one (they’re so awful I read one a few weeks ago). When I went to college I majored in English composition and continued writing: essays, reviews, poetry (my poetry was also terrible) and short stories. When I sat down at my laptop time would not only pass, but also pass at lightning speed. Post graduate school I departed from my own writing in the interest of teaching students how to do it and then I began to publish Facebook Notes as I felt inspired. In the past couple of weeks I’ve noticed the need for a creative release that Now I’ve decided to force myself to be inspired daily for the next twenty-five days until this blog challenge ends.
If you don’t create time and space for the things you enjoy, no one will rush in and create that space for you. If you don’t take time to discover what makes you feel good, no one will interrupt your evening television to give you a survey. There are some things we have to do for ourselves, and they are most things. Writing helps me impose order upon the chaos, to make what is abstract concrete, to capture and tame wild thoughts and possibly communicate them to others. But enough about me (which is my least favorite blog topic), I hope that as you read this, you’re thinking of what helps you make sense of things, and if you haven’t discovered something that makes you feel alive, I strongly suggest you look. No one will do it for you.
After all, no one will write about my trunk music if I don’t, except perhaps another psychopath.