Sometimes, sitting down to write, there’s a very clear picture of what I want to say. Other times, not so much. Most of the time, it’s both. I know exactly what I want to say right up until I sit down to say it. Then I write a few words and realize that I haven’t made any sense at all. That’s how it usually goes.
From my starting point of nonsense and loss of direction, I try a few more halting lines. Nothing sounds right. I’m not ready to say what I was about to say. I don’t even know what I was starting to say. Where was I going with that again? Select all, delete. Flip through my trusty notebook and restart. I know it’s crammed with thoughts I’ve had recently, one of these pages might be a good starting point. Blank pages. Once I find the pages with something on them: this one is too personal, that one doesn’t make sense. I wrote the one I wanted in another notebook, on a napkin, in a card that I gave to someone else. This one is perfect! To bad it’s a weird doodle…
Why can’t I just get my thoughts out?
Then I start to write about my frustration with writing. It happens every time. The words start flowing, and whatever was buried inside, whatever it was that I wanted to say, finally bubbles to the surface. It’s rarely the thing I meant to say at the beginning, but it’s usually what I wanted to say all along. It’s a funny thing.
I’ve wanted to write so much lately. But my writing has been incoherent and unimportant. Mostly just me complaining about life. About almost dying in a car accident, about ridiculous traffic laws, about bosses, school, and situations that really don’t matter to anyone but me. Most of it is unimportant, a lot of it wouldn’t be proper to publish. I’m too responsible for that. Every action matters and a single stray word can cause pain and problems that were entirely unintended. The temptation to vent is often present lately.
I’m learning patience. I’m learning to balance complacency with impatience, and vice versa. I don’t give up easily, but sometimes I should. I don’t like sitting on my hands, but sometimes I need to. I have a tendency to do way too much, and then to slack off and do absolutely nothing. I strive for balance, but what I get most of the time is contrast. What I’m trying to say is getting fuzzy again. My clarity is fizzing away like a seltzer tablet.
I want to create things, I want to use my passion for art and communicating. I love to communicate. I’m not an advertiser or a journalist, I’m a communicator and a connector and an innovator and I’m like a bottle of tonic water. I’m also rapidly going flat. Designing, advertising, marketing, writing, drawing, experiencing, solving, sharing—I am drawn to those, and I have nowhere to do them. Instead, I’m pouring my passion into… into what?
I don’t give up easily, and I don’t disappoint. It’s not in my nature. I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but maybe I said it. Maybe you read this and understood. Maybe it inspired you. I really hope so. I want to inspire people. I want to inspire the world with everything I do.