A Random Ramble

I feel as though I’ve been without words lately.

Not without inspiration but without words.

Over the last few years I’ve experienced what can only be described as: life.

There have been moments of triumph and of trauma.

Of tears and tooth-filled laughter.

Times of drought and of deluge.

Yet through it all, I abandoned the blank page and opted to exist in the liminal space of each transition.

For the first time in what seems like a while, I am confronted by a blinking cursor and a blank screen.

If you’ve read anything that I’ve written recently, odds are it was recycled material from a time when I felt my veins pulsed proudly with inspiration and language.

I’ve thought about what has changed between now and then and I suppose the sum of all answers is this: The words stop flowing when you stop writing.

I’ve chosen to view my relationship with writing these last few years as a faucet with a paid water bill: still functional, just turned to the “off” position.

It’s a funny thing to have a subject-object relationship with yourself. To be both the observer of the object and the object itself; to observe the way in which you resist something yet also have the power and will to modify your resistance.

As you may have gathered, when I sit down to write (or type rather), I have no agenda.

No planning, no forethought, no possible structure that could be predefined.

However, what I do have is space.

I provide myself the space to ramble and meander while I try to make some sense of the words floating above my head that I welcome into my head and thus through my hands and onto a page. 

Writing has always felt more akin to channeling than generating.

I’ve never felt that I manually generate words onto a page, rather if I sit in stillness then I grant that part of my mind a place to express itself and guide me to what I need to know or hear.

Some may refer to this as being in the “flow” and as I mentioned earlier, my faucet has not been flowing. 

There have been many days I’ve sat down to write something only to abandon the notion and blame it on premature maturation. 

I would try waiting for 9 months or so knowing that this cadence is the same that brought me into the world which I exist in.

However, I’ve learned that 9 months is only one measurement of gestation. A chipmunk is only pregnant for 31 days while an elephant can take up to 23 months to birth their babies.

If there is any conclusion to be drawn it would be that the smaller the animal, the shorter the gestation. 

As for complexity, I have yet to make any sensible observations as to whether the complexity and intelligence of the species has anything to do with its gestation period… or in my case whether the greatness of an idea will take longer to mature.

I’ve witnessed the mind-boggling intricacy of ants and their colonies and also think back to a particular elephant-related memory. Two natural creatures close in genius but distant in size.

My mind flashes back to the street-facing wall of my hometown Panera that held a framed painting done by an elephant holding a paintbrush in its trunk. 

I remember being quite young, smearing honey walnut cream cheese onto a toasted cinnamon crunch bagel, looking up at this painting and wondering what was so significant about a few primary colors slapped onto an 8x10.

Only years later did I read the small sign next to the painting that told about the elephant who produced it. 

If you’ve never looked up paintings done by elephants then I encourage you to do so and marvel at their genius.

As for my own genius, I often wonder where it has wandered off to or what gestation stage it is currently in.

Each passing month I wish to have lived life in such a way that contributes to its growth and expansion and that one day, I may have the awareness to know when my thoughts and ideas have ripened enough to be birthed into the world. 

They say that waiting well is preparing well but what does it mean to wait well anyways?

Through writing this, I hope to have turned my faucet back into the “on” position to encourage growth and maturation of the ideas and concepts circulating in my mind.

If you’ve read this far then I hope that you can consider what genius or ideas may be growing within you, too. Remembering that we as humans are the only ones to have conceptualized this idea of time anyways.

A chipmunk does not know that it takes 31 days to birth a baby, its body simply knows instinctively when the time is right. 

This next chapter of my life will be about instinct. 

About working towards the abandonment of time restraints or time awareness and leaning into allowing my intuition to guide me to the next phase, the next step, or the next idea.

I write this as a reminder to myself to remember that inaction will be the only thing to keep us from achieving that which we desire. 

So, here’s to taking action. No matter the shape or size.