Sketching

Coming Back to the Road

I’ve been blogging for about half a year. By no means it is long enough to say I am an expert or anything, but I have felt comfortable with my own writing routines. Or it seemed so a couple of weeks ago.

I spent last two weeks away from the blogosphere revising my aims and goals, and it made me lose connection with the writing habit that I considered to be pretty solid. It feels as if I was going along a road that I knew would bring me somewhere, but then I stepped aside, just for a moment, and sat down on the grass and looked up at the sky, at white clouds slowly float above. And when it’s time to get back to the road I am not so sure anymore if the path that seemed to be mine is really mine. I don’t know if I have chosen the right direction or if I actually want to go anywhere.

I kept asking myself whether I should blog if I am not sure why I am doing it.

Today I got up at six in the morning. I had no reason to do so, but I woke up with a sudden wish to jot something down. Does it mean that I have been missing writing all this time and that I need to take to it again? Probably yes. In the end, it doesn’t really matter if I know where the road goes. It goes somewhere, and, while I enjoy walking, why not pace along?

There were several times in my life when I felt an unexplained urge to do something new. I never questioned it, I just followed it. And years later, when looking back, I can see surprisingly pleasant results those initial impulses brought me to, although then, in the very beginning, I had no idea of what would await me ahead.

I guess it’s the same with blogging or writing in general. I don’t know where it will bring me. But I can go on and see what happens. When something pushes you from inside you should give in to that urge even if you can’t decipher the message of your inner self yet.

It is so easy to shut down and lose the habit of expressing yourself, especially after a couple of discouraging remarks from people who judge you by your words. But the truth is you don’t write for anyone else. You write because you want to say something out loud, to let go of the ideas and feelings that boil up in your head; otherwise they will have to steam out through your ears and nostrils or run out as tears through your eyes.

Come back to posting your tiny little thoughts, I say to myself. You need it, so just do it. As simple as that. Keep telling what wants to be told. And even if your way of expressing yourself is awkward and full of silly mistakes you still have the right to speak. While speaking aloud, you learn to free your heart and be who you are.

Bookworm, Sketching

My Blog Is My Selfie

“Concentrate on what you want to say to yourself and your friends. Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. You say what you want to say when you don’t care who’s listening.”

Allen Ginsberg

My blog is one big selfie. It’s all about me even though I don’t post any photos and don’t share any details about my current private life. Still, it’s all about me, my thoughts, my feelings and ideas that attract or bother me. I’m in every word here.

Truly, I believe that’s how it has to be. This is my personal blog and this is why I have it: to think out loudly and, if I’m lucky, receive somebody’s response. I’m here to say what I want to say to myself and to those who care to listen.

The first thing I want to see whenever I go to someone else’s blog is the personality behind all the words. I don’t seek useful information or good advice on how to buy property in Miami even though there are many helpful web pages and I respect them. It’s just not the area of my interests.

I look for people. I know that some enthusiasts who get into blogging put aside reading books completely and only read blogs. I’m not one of them, but I get it. Books tell you stories that end sooner or later, and you have to move on to another book. Blogs allow you to meet real persons, listen to them and see how they cope with their life journey. If you like their voice and way of thinking you want to check on them every now and then as if they were your friends; and the great thing is none of them has the back cover saying ‘the end’.

As you can see, I’m a fan of selfies, but not all of them, of course. I like ones that are sincere, true and full of inner moonlight, and I don’t mind a bit of madness in their shine.

 

The Daily Post

Sketching

From Be to Move

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I am, these are two words that express me most precisely. Usually I’m Ok with everything that is around me; whatever it is I’m able to adapt pretty easily. I am, and that’s enough. But recently I started feeling the urge to move, to change, to learn, to create, to be more than I am. I don’t know from where this shift comes, but it’s here and I have to deal with it, even though my sloth nature protests and slows me down. Yet, I’m moving forward, and the verb that describes me today is move.

The Daily Post

Sketching

Way Too Early

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My blog turned into an audiobook would be a very strange thing where chapters are not connected, neither thematically nor stylistically. Pieces of memory followed by fiction samples followed by some random musings… A listener, if there were one, would get lost right away and drop listening to this mishmash. To make this awkward project at least somewhat attractive I would need help of many, many actors whose velvet voices would enrich and maybe even give some sense to the whole idea, but what would it do to me?

Every wannabe writer is looking for their own identity, and my not-found-yet voice replaced by many professional others, even sounding irresistibly beautiful, wouldn’t get me closer to myself. On the contrary, I would get lost, along with the hypothetical listener, within the jumble of various readings. So I’ll pass if I may. I’m not ready for an audiobook or any other media adventure. I have miles to go before that, many long miles.

 

The Daily Post

Sketching

Need for Reflection

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Imagine the world without mirrors…

But what is there to imagine? Such world existed for thousands of years, the world not knowing this perfectly reflecting glass we call mirrors today. But could people live without checking their reflection on the surface of some shiny object? Not at all. People used polished brass plates or quiet lake’s water to look at themselves. The old myth of Narcissus tells a story of a young man spending the whole day on the river bank and staring at his beautiful face troubled only with river’s flow.

People need mirrors. If they don’t have them, they invent them. They look for mirrors even within themselves. Leo Tolstoy called human eyes the mirror of the soul. Modern philosophers like Jiddu Krishnamurti claim persons themselves to be mirrors of each other. Whatever happens to this world, nothing will happen to mirrors as we will find something to replace the broken glass.

Why do we depend on our reflections so much? Why do we need its constant confirmation of our existence?

We are born, and almost immediately we look for appreciation. “Mommy, look at me! Dad, have I done it right? Darling, do I look fat to you?”

The habit to check within the outer world is the oldest one ever. But we can’t trust only someone’s opinion about us, it would keep us unbalanced; we need some support from inside, we want to check ourselves if that what everybody can see is really true, and the mirror is your first friend here, it’s a tool that always says the truth in case you dare to see it as to be honest with yourself is the most difficult task in life.

I don’t want to imagine the world without mirrors; it would be the place where I’d have no choice to have my own opinion, where I’d depend only on someone else’s beliefs. I don’t want this; I want to see everything on my own.

 

The Daily Post

Sketching

Cloudy Lemons

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I’ve learned not to panic when something goes wrong. It wasn’t an easy thing for me to do as I’m pretty impatient and when I want something I want it right now or even sooner. But my life proved that sometimes when you really, really want something now, right away, immediately it stands on your way to much bigger happiness later.

It’s not possible to see a bigger picture from the point you are standing at. And it’s not easy to believe that there is a bigger picture especially when you are eaten alive by your covetous wish or you suffer from loss, or fear or whatever the lemon’s corrosive acid is doing to you. But whenever you look back you see this bigger picture, and you are glad that there was something that barricaded your way and prevented you from achieving a momentary goal for it saved you from a worse pain. At least, that’s my story.

It’s a cliché that every cloud has a silver lining, but it is a cliché for a reason, and it is true. It’s not easy to take every mishap of yours as a lesson or a step to the future, but realizing that all clouds will eventually go by not being able to hide the sun for long time is the only way to overcome your sorrows and make lemonade from those damn lemons that grow at every corner of our life.

 

The Daily Post

Sketching

Blogging to the Future

Half a year ago I didn’t think about blogging. I heard there are people who write and publish their thoughts and stories online but I couldn’t imagine I would be one of them. ‘I don’t have anything to say,’ that was how I felt about blogging and writing in general.

Then one day some crazy bug bit me and I thought why not? Let’s try and see what happens. I created a page, published a couple of posts and ran out of ideas. The whole month I wasn’t able to write anything and thought that’s it, the blogging activity proved to be not my thing.

In June Writing 101 came into my life and formed a new angle of view for me. First of all, I realized how many people are out there who, just like me, wait for a push to think about something and write it down. And it’s fascinating to see how different people express their polar opinions and feelings when they talk about the same subject and how unique everyone’s experience is. And your own experience also seems to be unique and worth sharing.

The other important and interesting discovery was that, obviously, you can respond to almost any idea no matter how alien it sounds first. If you give yourself a minute and think about someone’s words or images you will hear your own answer which sometimes will be surprising even for you, like, ‘Really? That’s what I think or remember or feel?’

Thanks to blogging I made a good step towards myself and self-discovery and probably towards honing my writing style. Altogether it’s fun and I keep going, to get to know me, to learn writing better and just to see what happens.

 

The Daily Post

Sketching, Writing 101

Old Professor’s Ghost on the Misty Road

A couple of years ago I heard that one of my university professors died. He was the most talented belles-lettres scholar I’ve known and a very strong personal influence to me.

That night I had a dream where he knocked at my door and asked, “Where are your stories lately written?” I got surprised and told him I didn’t have any. But he insisted, “Where are your stories lately written?” and I pulled something dusty out of my desk drawer and pushed it to him to leave me alone. When I woke up I had a strange feeling realizing that, indeed, I hadn’t been writing for long, long time.

Next day I talked to my old friend who said that the same night she had a dream with the professor, too, and he told her that she should trust people in her life.

We both joked about how nosy he became after passing away, knocking at people’s doors with his parental advice, but the coincidence shadowed with the existential enigma of death stuck to my mind. I started asking myself, “Where are my stories and why does it bother me that I don’t have any?”

Later that year I read The Element by Ken Robinson, and the book triggered something in me. It talks about self-discovery, true passion that hides within you and pushes you forward. The author claims that everyone has a talent that can bring joy and meaning to their life. It’s simply a matter of finding it, and one of the ways to do it is recalling what you loved when you were a child.

My answer was easy; I always loved books and drawing. I never stopped reading so, I thought, I have to come back to pencils. I did, and it was fun, but relearning to draw kept me thinking about writing. I started seeing parallels between two arts in the way you observe things concentrating on the details, mood and shadows while trying to transfer everything you see on paper.

And then again I had a dream with the professor who, again, asked me what I was writing.

I woke up with understanding that my subconscious really wants something from me and probably I should give in. I didn’t start writing novels right away, I am not such a pushover, no matter how many dead professors come to bother me, but I turned back to an old forgotten habit of typing out ideas, thoughts and worries. And, of course, I renewed my tradition of voracious reading. And then it happened. One day, writing something, I felt I came home. It was surprising influx of joy, the sense of finding what was lost.

I read somewhere that when you go the way that brings you joy life starts treating you to unexpected presents. No, you don’t win a lottery or a cruise to the Caribbean where you should do nothing but bathe in the sunlit waves. Instead you, step by step, discover happy bits in life, and the course of it slowly changes while you follow the road that becomes truly yours.

I was not unhappy without writing, but we all look for some meaning that we cannot find in the droning everyday routine, and writing gives the feeling of not wasting life. It doesn’t stop time, but it gives you moments when time stops.

I now read some books on writing to help myself find the ways to rediscover and express old, deep me that I was hiding or was hiding from. And to my surprise, writing turned out to be not as scary and difficult as I remember it. I must have changed from the student’s days, as now I can see writing as fun. I don’t harass myself about worthiness of the written or the chances to be published; I don’t even bother myself with thinking too much whether it is interesting to read. It is interesting to write. It is enough for me at the moment. I plunge into my mind to dig out forgotten or put-aside things. And I feel that, somehow, every step brings me ahead, even though I have no idea so far where I am going. It’s all in the fog, but still, it is my misty road, and I want to keep going.

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