I’ve thought about it a lot – but a well articulated explanation still escapes me. I just believe in doing things. I want to be someone who pulls something out of nothing. I want to work on the art, take the picture, plant the garden, bake the bread, write the book, observe the pond, hike the mountain. I want to work on an endless list that will come to an abrupt end someday.
I am sure we can all feel the same thing, and I am sure we would all call it something different, but I call it numb. For a long time I have been hounded by it. Lately it has me so cornered that sometimes I don’t even know who I am. Or what I’m doing. Or why I am doing what I am doing. And I don’t blame me, or you – if you also feel that way.
But sometimes there are moments where I can tell you exactly who and what I am. Like when I am watching the tadpoles, or when my sourdough has phenomenal oven spring, or when I am sketching the 10ft tall sunflower that grew in the front garden this year.
I have hills to die on, ideas in my head, so many things to say. Gambling gives me a stomach ache – but I would bet it all to say that you do as well. We are living, and dying, and writing our stories the entire time – and sometimes I feel like I am sleeping through it.
So my solution is this, a big old non-sensical collection of all the things I say and do that keep me awake. And I truly hope that if you ever take the time to leaf through some of it, that you decide to just make your own. Make your own music, your own art, your own blog, your own jacket, your own dinner, your own book club, your own coalition. Your own records to prove that you walked this earth and believed in things and laughed and cried and sacrificed.
Make your own and show someone.
