I sat down in the middle of this day because I have been longing to write. For a very long time. I have been restless for a while. Opportunities have not existed for writing in particular, and neither has a means. Until now, that is.
I need to change some things. I am not completely sure exactly what that means, or I mean, or who, or what, will get changed. Just things. I have minimized my material life for now. That's been a big eye opener. It's other things, though, that are causing this lack of clarity. The only thing I am sure of is things need changing.
These thoughts didn't just spring into my head today. They didn't start the day before yesterday either. Maybe I merely acknowledged them then as a far too early, obnoxious light peeked through the slats of my not completely closed shutters. The red numbers on the digital clock read 6:38. That number is typically obscene to me unless it has a p.m. after it. I muttered, “Dammit! Who didn’t shut these completely?” Wow! Was I quick to blame “someone else” for this rude disturbance, or what? That is until I remembered. It was me. I didn't. I went to bed alone, and the sheets were still cold on the other side. (Maybe that had something to do with it, too.)
But I do know what rises about that time on the westernmost edge of the Eastern Standard Time Zone. I hadn’t seen it in far too long, and I knew instantly I missed it. So I walked across the room, opened up the shutters, and let its orange glow bath me through my bedroom window. It was sweeping, and magical, and strong. Vibrantly casting itself like a huge fishing net across the lake from north to south. It was warm and friendly. It had been far too long.
And I started thinking.
I see more summer sunsets than most anyone I know. And while they are beautiful, and peaceful, and the perfect way to bid a day, good or bad or mediocre, goodbye, I don’t say hello to it hardly ever. I used to. I remember loving it.
So I thought further.
Just standing there.
Just standing there.
Maybe it is time to start changing some patterns. Maybe see a few more of those moments that begin days. Feel the newness. Maybe change a few other things, cycles, habits while I am at it.
I had ten minutes of time to myself just now and the impulse to get some words out of my head and onto the page was far too strong to ignore. It may not seem like I have written much here. It is a start, though. It is important to me.
I miss writing. I miss stream of consciousness writing. I miss my words on paper. I miss writing purely for me.
P.S. I wrote a very emotional, difficult, and probably hurtful (sort of) poem a few days back. It's not really about anyone. I know I've said that before. That my writing wasn't about someone or something in particular. But writing is always motivated by something or someone, is it not? It is about friendship. It is general. These are some of the most potentially hurtful (I've just used that word twice in a few sentences) words I have ever strung together in my life. I have certainly never said these words before, or written regarding (a) friendship. Why did I write them or it? I think, for now, they or it will remain like those letters you write when you are trying to get something off your chest, but then you never send them. It's probably one of those. Maybe.