I haven’t felt like writing for several days, and so I didn’t write. To just let that be is difficult for me. What if in the next year I only blog once a week? I struggle not to label that as “bad”.
In my worst moments, I visualize having nothing to say for the rest of my life. But I know me … that simply is not true. Something out in the world will get my attention and then I’ll find a way to relate it to my life. So there.
I was driving in St. Thomas yesterday when I noticed a little black object way up high straight ahead of me. A squirrel was scampering along the power line that stretched across the road. Then he stopped, apparently eating something. In a flash I was under him and gone, but he has stayed with me.
Mr. Squirrel was so calm up there. Just dipsydoodling his way above the madding crowd. I imagined myself on a rope, suspended above the gorge near Niagara Falls, holding on to my long pole for dear life. Absolute terror! Now it’s true that I don’t have the skill, and that I could possibly develop it, but to perform such a feat with my new friend’s ease? Impossible.
What if I could hum my way through some activity that many people would find hugely difficult? Do I do anything like that? Well … now that you mention it … I’m writing this blog post. Some folks, in contemplating the creation of words that will later fly off into cyberspace, would feel the same terror. And although I’ve been in a scribing lull lately, when I do sit down with my laptop, I trust that I’ll have something to say, that the words will come. Such as right now. This paragraph is over. I don’t know what the next one will be about. And that’s okay.
“Celebrate, Bruce, that you can write with ease. It’s all right if the quality is not so good on a certain day. There’ll be plenty of really good posts. Just let those fingers do the walking.” And so I will.