I’m easily distracted these days; my mind wanders like a child lost in the woods — directionless. I have never done well with too much time on my hands. Despite all this time, I have accomplished little in the way of meaningful work. Instead I have frittered away most of it in waiting, but I’m not exactly sure what I’ve been waiting on.
Godot never came, at least not to the knowledge of the reader. Jesus is supposed to come back, but for all we know, he may have already been, seen the current state of things, and left. Waiting is somewhat of a theme in my life lately. I’m at a bus stop, but the bus never comes. At least not the bus I’m waiting for. And sometimes you just get tired of waiting and hop on the wrong bus, eager to go anywhere, but it usually just takes you further away from where you need to be. So you wait.
I’m not a specialist, but a generalist, in an increasingly specialized world. Almost everything interests me, and sometimes I lose focus as I jump from idea to idea, a pollinating bee of a mind I have. Yet, unlike the bee, my flowers haven’t borne any fruit of late. I’ve just had a steady buzzing in my head to contend with, the idle chatter of what sometimes feels like years of bad decisions. However, I’m not feeling bleak, as much as anticipatory. Good things come to those who wait, right?
Interest, and what makes things interesting, is a topic I think about constantly. There are so many choices these days. There are a million words to read, images to consume, thoughts to process, and meanings to decipher: it’s exhausting. And so much of it is dross. When it comes down to it, interesting isn’t easy. To proffer information and hold the attention of the reader and be unique is very difficult. Thus, while there are so many things to read, very few are worth reading, and while there are so many things to see, most can go unseen. There is probably a rule of parallel construction I’ve broken, but most people don’t find that interesting.
Brevity is something I’ve been working on. As a natural born rambler, I’ve come to take pride in paring down my prose. I’m also trying to steer clear of gratuitous language, as the small words, mostly, work just fine. Simplicity is a sign of security. As a writer and a chef, I’m always tempted to put one more thing on the plate, but fighting that impulse makes you better. It makes you more vigorous.
I forced myself to write today, not because I felt that I had anything to say, but because I need to be more disciplined. Discipline is hard because it’s not very much fun. But discipline makes for more interesting writing in the long run. And I’d like to think if I am anything at all, it’s interesting.