Wander

 

 

“Not all those who wander are lost.”

J. R. R. Tolkien

I sit and stare at the blank page waiting to be filled with splashes and sploshes of delightful and colorful words. Words that convey a profound wisdom and grace. Words that draws one in. Words that come alive. Words that tease the imagination and beckons you to play. You have fun all day in the sun and before you realize it, you’ve learned something. At least I want my writing to be like that but lately….not so much…

 

I remember when I started blogging. I would read many a post from a fellow blogger who would begin the post with a “Sorry I’ve been gone so long but...”  I swore I would never do that but it seems like I’m doing that now.

I could say that I’ve haven’t had much time to write but who does really? I know one must make time to write and I haven’t done that.  I suppose I haven’t wanted to or I haven’t had anything to say. I seem to be running away from something. My thoughts perhaps?  There is a running dialogue that presents itself to me.  It fills my mind and it races almost too fast for me to keep up.  I will read things I have written previously and be awestruck at the strangeness of it. I recognize bits of myself but other bits I don’t recognize quite as well.

I have been using my travel time to work to just sit. I zone out and allow my mind to be still which usually leads to some interesting meandering.  I’m taking it all in; whatever crosses my path on my journey literally and figuratively.  I just allow myself to just be.

 

art girl blowing bubbles planets

Writing has always been therapeutic. I’ve put my feelings down in words ever since I could hold a pencil. It’s been my outlet to the outside world. Starting this blog and writing over 200 posts has profoundly changed me.  I’ve grown in leaps and bounds over the last four years. Never can I go back to what I once was. I must forge ahead. Part of that forging is taking my writing to the next level. I haven’t submitted much as I find I have nothing I deem worthy.

Putting heart and soul out there in words is what I do best, but there are a million others who can say the same thing. Who am I to presume that I have anything to say that anyone would want to hear, must less pay for?  I realize now that I should abandon my hope of being a paid writer as money cannot be my focus. I have to go where my heart lies and seldom in this life do the two go hand and hand.

I have been distracted by life and rightly so.  Whatever I write is not only deeply effected by my current experiences, it is built on them. I put myself into it. I don’t know of any other way.

I have been conflicted as of late on what to write at all really.  I have some bits and pieces that I have written lately, many are tinged with an anger at the state of the world.  I am a crazy idealistic dreamer who goes on pessimistic forays now and then but I always return with a  renewed sense of vigor. This is vigor has been rising up but is confused as to which way to go.  I always have to have a answer. I cannot seem to finish a writing piece without having the issue settled in my mind and it seems everything is up in the air and I don’t have all the answers. I’m learning that is okay too.

 

vintage girl and elephant friend

 

I’m trying to live in the moment and just take life in. I am grateful for what I have and I am enjoying whatever comes. I am content but restless. I feel like something is left undone and I have a strange feeling of deja vu right now. It’s like my future self is rooting for me to do the right thing —whatever that is. Honestly I don’t know sometimes…

I also have been finding myself getting lost the beauty of the words of others such as  those of Mary Oliver who has in the short span of a year has become one of my favorite writers.  I feel a kinship with her writing. I love the whimsy and the focus on the small and quiet things of nature, on that which is difficult to hear but essential to the ear.   I’ve been ordering them one by one from the library. I look forward to cracking open a new book . Her words have made me laugh and cry, they have delighted and amused me, they have made me think.  Never before have I been so emotionally affected by writing. Her words are so real, so poignant and oh so lovely. They are a beautiful escape to me. I see myself there, I identify and find kinship there. And then it dawns on me; that maybe I can do some of that too, in my own way.  Provide an escape. A refuge in words and imagery for others to retreat to too.  Writing doesn’t have to be “important” all the time, or wise or impressive to mean something to someone. To touch another person with words is amazing and I would love someday to be able to touch people like Mary Oliver has touched me.

 

 

zoo girl and duck

Something to ponder on a cold and windy day in November….

Seems like I’m back for a spell.

~NLM

 

animal-children-photography-elena-shumilova-13 cat shadow girl

 

“Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
Mary Oliver

 

 

*

A Non Writing Writer

 

“A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”
~Franz Kafka

 

spider scream

 

How can I call myself a writer? I ask myself as I skip past my blog (this one) and head straight on to Facebook for a healthy helping of scrabble, inspirational gobbledygook, silliness and chat.  This has become a pattern as of late; a pastime I engage in to distract myself from the reality that I am a writer that is not writing.

I am stuck. Jumbled is the best way I can describe it.  A million thoughts vie for my attention; some are glorious, some are grand, some are damn insecure and most are unfinished. Just like my writing–just like me.

Time is a funny thing; when I was younger it seemed to be there was so much of it.  I couldn’t wait for it to pass so I could do this or that. There was an abundance of time and I could afford to waste it. So I did….and then life gets in the way…funny again how  THAT happens and so here we are and here I am in my mid forties and what have I done?  Not a whole hell of a lot…

 

…for myself anyway…for my dreams and my hopes. There was always someone first. This is not unusual. It is the reality of being a parent; sometimes your dreams have to rest on the back burner for a while. I understand that and I embraced the hell out of it, spending many years as a stay-at-home mom. You never ever get that time back and I am glad I was able to do it but this has set me back career-wise quite a bit.

 

I always thought in the back of my mind that writing would “save” me someday; from the reality…the drudgery of every day life…writing has always been my salvation.

I have spent countless hours alone; just me with pen and paper. I would pour my heart and soul out and never dare show anyone what I had  written. Writing was my only confidant, my only true friend. Every hurt…and every joy and everything in between was  recorded in one way or another.

I have grown dependent on this mode of expression to get my feelings out. It is like breathing to me and when I don’t write I slowly suffocate…

Once in a while I get blocked. We all do. Many, I think run out of ideas on what to write, this has never been a problem for me… quite the opposite.  I can think of a million things to write. My brain is like a radio receiver and most of the time I can pick up one station at a time and focus. This is the perfect spot for me; I am in “the zone” and at my most  happiest.
On rare occasions it’s as if all the stations are on at the same time. I can’t focus on just one.  I’ve learned not to worry at this point. I’ve been here before and I have learned just to walk away and do something else.

The words cannot be forced and neither can my passion. I have to be passionate about whatever I write or really what is the point? I am finding out. I must be true to myself and my convictions. I cannot sugarcoat my feelings or concentrate my focus on silly feel-good trite. I must speak my mind and not worry about upsetting someone.

I have been guilty of all of the above…and life is too damn short for this.

 

It is almost midnight. The back door is open and a cool breeze wafts in ever so slightly, my tea is warm and I am smiling–life is pretty good.
I don’t need all the answers. I don’t need to be perfect and I don’t think anyone expects me to be. So I’m going to focus on being me a little more and not being someone else. This Strawberryindigo thing…I don’t know. I may drop the silly name and be….me; Nancy.

I can’t force this, I think I will take life as it comes for a while and see where that leads me…

 

 

 

audrey-hepburn

Where is that? I don’t know but I do know I must keep on writing. It’s like riding a bike and here I am back on the bike baby pedaling like crazy.

I have missed you all here in the blogosphere. I feel like a kid who has been out of school for an extended absence and now I am back. I am out on the playground and it feels good to be here!

 

Nancy

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“Writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate they stop being writers.” 
~Charles Bukowski

 

 

 

PS:  Whoever sent me the Kafka quote. Thanks for the reminder. I needed it.  I want you to know that it is one of my favorites and so are you!

 

woman_typing_vintage

 

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