Oct 23, 2008

Vestige of Hope

I recently received some less than favorable news from one of my doctors. While I will be able to receive treatment for this ailment, deep down I began to fear the worst symptom that could occur. It's bothered me so much that it's come out in my dreams since the doctor's visit.

However, I had a reassuring feeling just now that has escaped me lately: everything is as it should be. Even if some events may not go as planned, I know that everything is happening the only way that it can. While that might be scary for some, it is a source of confidence to me. Why? Even though what happens will happen, we don't know how or when. The journey is the lesson, not the end.

Oct 21, 2008

Dream Sequences

I've become lost in my own escapism. Dreaming of events that may never occur; analyzing encounters that have little reason to take place. Scrutinizing and reshaping every possible scenario of an improbable meeting. What purpose does this serve? What good is it to know someone as intimately as I do in my imagination when its realization may never come to pass?

My imagination is a blessing and a curse. It's a part of me that I get lost in periodically, and I fall for it every time because I love it. It's a terrible addiction if left unchecked, and releasing myself from its grip is sometimes an awful comedown. Who wants to live in reality when you can make your own?

Whatever the trigger this time around, I need to come back and externalize what I have learned during this escapade. I must seek closure to the tangent that I've been on for the past few weeks. In this instance it requires me to finally create the object that caused the tangent in the first place. Once it actually exists, then I can decide what further course of action needs to be taken. I think I may have realized the outcome already, but there is still the glimmer of hope for another ending...

Oct 17, 2008

Why write?

I agree that this is an outlet, but to what end? What do I hope to accomplish by writing in this blog that I'm feebly attempting to leave anonymous? Why write at all?

I went through the phase as a young teen of wanting to be a singer and songwriter. Since Mom had such a good voice, I assumed mine wasn't so bad (I could still use some training one day). My writing, however, was always quite sappy and cliche which was not uncommon for someone of my age and naivete. Writing about crushes, happiness, and dreams in such a blatant way certainly wasn't what I enjoyed listening to, so why in the world did it come out of my head? I had an $80 Casio that did well for the song portion of my songwriting hobby, but my previous short stint of piano lessons didn't leave me well-equipped for the job. In the end, the keyboard was a hobby in itself for playing tunes by ear until it was stolen several years later. The songs found their way to the trashcan because I couldn't bear to read them after I'd written them, and as for my voice... I enjoy singing to myself, but you couldn't pay me to do karaoke.

I've since realized some more optimal ways to approach tackling a large task such as the one above. I don't particularly enjoy being taught when I have high expectations for myself. Example: I was afraid to practice my French Horn at home because my mother and father both played instruments--I had an easier time locking myself in a store room at school to practice where no one heard me. I prefer to go at my own pace and self-teach until I'm up to par according to me and no one else. If others still think ill of my performance, then it's easier for me to accept constructive criticism because at least I had confidence in myself. Yes, it's a matter of self-esteem.

So, how do you self-teach writing? Fortunately, since my mother is a writer and former English teacher--tell me I'm not setting myself up for failure here--I have a very good background to work with already. Although similar to the French Horn experience, I won't be asking for her help any time soon. I could buy books, research online, imitate others...but I still have to be the one who's happy with it in the end. What good is a piece of writing with my name attached if it's not something I'm proud of?

I still haven't answered my starting questions of "why?" Well, why did I want to be a singer/songwriter? I knew how I felt when I listened to my favorite singers. They poured their hearts out and gave everything they had just to offer those that would listen something with meaning. They all did it in different ways, but I knew when a singer wasn't sincere. Those tapes and CD's were turned in for store credit. I wanted to inspire others that way. Hell, I still wanted to when I went to college. I thought I could get there by being a teacher, but I committed the same blunder by being too immature for the job at hand and going against my instincts (thanks, bureaucracy). Now I'm an A/R manager at a small business and I'm as happy as a lark. Why? Because I realized that it's not necessarily what you do, but how you do it. I view my job as a vessel, not the product. I could dig a ditch or direct a choir, but I'm still here to do what I need to do, and I'm going to do it.

So I want to use writing to inspire. I feel that I can view writing in a different light than I used to and use it as a vessel for change in myself and one day others. I'm still figuring out how a blog on the edge of nothing is going to accomplish that. I'm a perfectionist, so for now the plan is to keep writing until I'm happy with it.

Oct 14, 2008

The Perfect Encryption

A bit of metacognitive thinking if you will...

Lyrics, songs, words. I've said before that they hold a different meaning to each. However, just because one person has put a phrase together doesn't mean that's how it should be interpreted. Some lyrics flow effortlessly into something else. Others take root and mature with age. Some...need more work than others...

Sometimes I hear a song or read a verse that jumps at me like a lion. It rips and tears at me until I turn it over and over trying desperately to decipher its significance in my mind. A struggle ensues that always ends in a lacerated mess--of both myself and the lyrics. Everything shredded to pieces, I work with fragile bits of consciousness laying them together with stinging hands. Must find a pattern; must heal broken thoughts. What does it mean?

Only after everything is reduced to a red haze do I realize I have to let it heal on its own. Time...and patience...

Now only visceral stains on my thoughts, the phrase no longer resembles its whole in the slightest, yet it yearns to hold meaning. Pieces of it pulse with new life, germinating steadily. Like an itching scar I'm reminded of the wound constantly, but I cannot disturb it and taint the process. I finally realize that it's grown to be a part of me, patched and mottled. It finally has a meaning. Only I can interpret it now.

Oct 3, 2008

Even our own worlds are connected

We all have our own worlds that we shelter away from everyone else. Even when we do share it, it is filtered through the eyes of another. No one can ever truly know what we know, the way that we know it. Just as history is subjective, so is our inner life. Events lead us to the conclusions we must draw in order to grow, mature, and learn.

It's an endless cycle. (And it's speeding up. All of it. Everything is coming together faster than before.)

As I can never truly share all of my life, I have to respect that others will hold theirs aside as well. Recognizing this is a large step.

As I said regarding the significance of written words, to each a different meaning is borne. I have to accept that none will know them the way that I do. In a way it's comforting; the feelings inspired will always be my own. But that same comfort can be confining. Living through our values and beliefs is essential, but self-tainting and meaningless if experienced in isolation. We'll forever be trapped in our own meanings, yet to live we must share them and expect others to understand when they can only truly understand their own? It's such an odd concurrence that existence is written this way, but it's what makes this reality so interesting. We are interdependent, yet believe we are acting alone. We each think that our actions can't possibly affect all of existence, but it does in every way. We are all a part of everything.

Everyone has to realize this in the deepest recesses of our own worlds. It's all connected. It serves a purpose.

So now I know I don't have to convey this to others...they already know. They just need to realize why they know it. And it will happen just as I am discerning; some later or sooner than others in many different ways...but it will happen inevitably.

Once you have a certain outlook, pondering the intricacies and the canvas is astounding, simple, complex, beautiful, and frightening.