Blank Space

Writing a blog isn’t as glamorous as you might think.

(If you think it’s glamorous at all, that is).

And I have to admit, most days I have a blank space where my post should be. I just can’t think of anything to write and it gets really frustrating.

So I stare out the window, or I do dishes, or I read, or I do just about anything else to help jog my brain.

I’ve trained my brain to write “dailey” for a few years now so I do eventually come up with something.

But I want to let you know that if something isn’t working for you right now, it doesn’t mean you won’t get to it. It’s okay to have a blank space or page where your next idea, or solution, or question should be.

Blankness is where everyone begins.

Love,

Bailey

(Writer’s) Blocked

As I’ve mentioned before, everyone has their way of interpreting/interacting/dealing/making sense of/ the world. When painters try to make sense of their world, we get impressionist art. When musicians try to escape themselves, we get blues (oddly, a collaboration in suffering.) But when poets try to interact with their reality, society, more often than not, receives really bad metaphors. Like these: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/08/high-school-analogies-20-_n_1332745.html

However, as bad as these analogies are, they represent a solid attempt. They exist, and therefore, can be edited into something great. They are proof that these students tried to make sense of their world and won. They are the first step.

And therein lies the problem with writer’s block: it is an unaffordable luxury. It would be nice to think that every time we didn’t know what to say or write or do, we simply wouldn’t have to say or write or do anything at all. If we could just button our lip until the moment passed us, or keep staring at our phones until the person we don’t want to talk to passes, then maybe we wouldn’t have to think about anything for the rest of our lives.

Except, those moments and people keep coming. And at some point, you are going to have to embrace the world. Interpret/interact/deal/and make sense of it, too. And trust me, the world doesn’t play nice with people who consistently say, “I forgot my homework.”

Dealing with writer’s block is as easy as admitting to yourself that it doesn’t exist. It is as easy as saying that I choose to stop suffering from it. (Which, of course, is like saying that it is exactly that easy and exactly that hard. Since you are relying on yourself, you determine the speed with which you are able to erase writer’s block from your life. This could take minutes, hours, or a lifetime. Results, however, will not vary. You will be free of it as soon as you want to be free.) It’s just about deciding not to accept it.

Oh, and in case you were thinking that this doesn’t apply to you because you don’t “write,” I use “writer’s block” in a more general sense to mean a drought in creativity or otherwise lack of liveliness and enthusiasm that one possesses to reach certain achievements and goals. So, this means you are suffering from writer’s block any time you are stuck in a situation you don’t want to be in but are unable to get yourself out of.

And here’s the cheesy metaphor part of this: you are the author and the hero and the villain of your own story. If you need to write yourself out of a particularly painted corner, then you can do it. It’s just a matter of not accepting writer’s block for what it is (a temporary obstacle, a self-imposed limitation) and allowing yourself to overcome it. Write your life’s story in permanent ink, believing that you can truly make no mistakes and you won’t.

 

Own What You Love, Love What You Own

I was going to write about something else, but I have something to say. I can almost hear the digital pixels click on my computer screen, as the cursor waits for me to push and shove it along. And it’s funny, how I’ve been uninspired to write this blog all week, and yet here I am, putting two and two together, and putting fingers to keys, and putting thoughts to the world. I had an agenda tonight, but I decided to discard it. Instead, I am going to start my blog post by offering an observation:

I’m not sure that anyone knows what love is anymore.

Think about it. What do you love? And what kind of love do you love it with? Is it a shallow love with thin, hairy roots? Or is it a deep, booming love, like when you drop a stone down a large hole to hear it strike against the sides and echo back up? Do you love things? Do you love material objects? And I’m not saying the shiny Mercedes parked in your driveway or the lavish house you live in. Do you love books? Do you love songs? These may not be the typical objects that you may think of when you think someone is being materialistic, but they still implie materialism. These things still tie you to the earth and the human experience.

In some way, you love these things because you own them. You love books. You may not own the book itself, but you own the story inside it after you’ve read it, in your consciousness. You love songs. You may not own the melody and the lyrics, or earn royalties every time it’s played, but you own your memory of songs. You own the feelings associated with the band, the lead singer, and the live concert you attended. Without knowing you, I know that you do not love death, and that you do not love disappointment, and that you do not love sadness. Not because these things are inherently bad, but because they are universal, and you do not own them. When death, disappointment, and sadness have left their mark, they leave to mar another. We cannot own them. We have to share them. And only by sharing them can we piece together the full mosaic of human experience.

But you can own love. In fact, we must own what we love, and we must love what we own.

And now you are saying, “But everyone has experienced happiness, people can share their happiness and love it, too.” But that isn’t true. If you are talking about two people in love, two people on their wedding day, they are happy to be with the other person, yes, and they own their happiness in that way. But they do not own the other person’s happiness, and so they cannot love one another. You can’t love what you can’t own in some way.

When we love other people, we must give little bits of ourselves to them. We don’t get these bits back, but we don’t want them returned either, because they’ve taken on a new shape in the other’s person hands. They get mangled or dinged. They get soaked or burned. They get coddled and stroked. We would not recognize the little bits we give to other people because they are simply not ours anymore.

So, how do we rediscover what love means in our lives? We have to play by love’s rules. We have to own what we love. If you love the present moment you will own the present moment, and you will be able to move freely within it. If you love your body, you will own your body, and it will not have the power it sometimes wields over your mind.

If you love with the intent of ownership, there will be no room for death, disappointment, or sadness.

I’m young, but I’ve seen people forget how to do things out of love, how to move out of love, how to love out of love. We somehow get buried under too many bills, too many “no’s,” and far too many promises of tomorrow.

But if you give little bits of yourself away to everyone you meet, little handfuls for people to own, cherish, and destroy, you will know love and you will be, ironically, full.