MY INSPIRATION IS GOING AWAY... IS IT?

I’ve been wanting to write my next post. I mean, I started this blog so that I can deal with many of the thoughts, emotions or other worthy material I come across, but every time a topic comes to my mind, as quickly as it appears, it disappears. Many ideas have been disposed over the past days because I did not apply myself to start writing; I was very busy living.

But going back to the lack of words, why is this? It could be many reasons: as I said earlier, my fear of exposing my feeling to others, lack of time, lack of interest, the fact that simply I’m not used to write, anything, not even a school, were I barely take notes. Weird, because it seems that in school you have to write a lot, especially reports (no wonder why stress kicks in every time a teacher say “instead of a test, I want an essay” I ace tests, and strange enough, essays too). Or maybe is just that I don’t have discipline, anywhere. Could be it.

The point is that I haven’t written for the past two weeks, and it’s an issue I have to deal with. Over the past years I’ve learn the hard way that in order to advance, it’s necessary to confront what’s in front so that I don’t have to drag it along to where I go. And this is my way to do so with this issue: Words: Friend, enemy or foe. Or all of the above.

It’s weird for me to be considering all of this, since I’ve never been a writer, or a reader, or a talker. Those are active, aggressive roles that most of the time, I don’t feel comfortable playing. (Why am I afraid of the aggressive part of my personality, that’s another story). The thing is that, for most of the part I write, read and speak. It’s a requisite in order to be a part of society, but the less I have to write or read, the better. Speak, that I enjoy, but not as a way to put my ideas into other, but more as a may to connect with them.

It may come as a shock for many people, but yes, I’m afraid to talk. Why? Because I’m afraid that I might not articulate what I want to express in the way I want to express it, and that the result of this could be extremely negative. It has happened. I don’t like to write, because I take a long time doing it so that all of the ideas that I want to put into a text are clear and the text is readable. Most importantly, I do not like to read. Period. It may seems that it’s because of laziness, and in some regard it may be true, but the real reason is the next one: I’ve always been suspicious of words. I feel that language, written or spoken is like a secret and elaborate code that I do not understand and that I do not have the cheat sheet to understand it’s meaning.

It’s a terrible way to perceive words, but there it is. I think that it has to do with the fact that it’s another person’s view of reality. I prefer my view, and might be wary of the view of others. That’s why I feel more comfortable dealing with images. I might be watching something fabricated, but it my firsthand view of the fact, not somebody else take on the same thing. Also, that’s why I take movies over books. Movies and books are two different mediums. Yes, books can be more detailed in the abstract, and movies might lack that dept, but still, it’s the take that the director had on the material, not the material itself.

Going back to books, sometimes, when I’m reading, I feel that I’m not getting the whole picture, which I have to complete it in order to understand it. I know that this part of reading is what makes it the more enjoyable for most people, but not for me. I need to have all the elements in order to make my own conclusions. On the contrary, I do not need to read four pages of the description of all the light shades in a sunshine, I just need to see it, period. If prose is complicated for me, poetry is like hieroglyphics. Too many contrived or so few cryptic words to describe… whatever. Not my cup of tea.

Getting back to the fact that I’m not writing. Well, I guess that it’s only a matter of practice, of getting accustomed to use words, so that I don’t feel threatened by them. The same goes for reading. Yes, I do read. Speaking, that’s another story, talk I love. Besides, words are the bridge we have to connect to others, and that I love. Being able to be in the presence of another being is an amazing thing to enjoy. Now I know why I haven’t been writing, I have been in the company of others, enjoying and giving myself to them and receiving their presence back. Thank you.