Just Write

Ive been going through a bad place in my writing the last few months, feeling inadequate, unsuccessful, like Im going to look back in 20 years and think “the highlight of my career was being a collegiate columnist” and that depressed me so much that it repressed my writing even more.
 
I used to use writing as my outlet, my emotional processing document, and it helped me exist, helped me stay sane. Now, I just write for the next clip, I write to be published, I write with the bold, capslocked FUTURE as a subtext to every word, and it has impaired me. So I decided to start writing for me again. Started journaling, started letting what I feel become the words I write, and theyre not the words that will become my clips, but theyre the words that will remind me that I love what I do – and that I can be confident enough to do it.
 
So… heres something I wrote this weekend. It’s silly and fun, and it was spawned by a friend asking, “What’s the theme song for your life?” This is my answer: 
 
“She needs wide open spaces,
Room to make a big mistake.”
~Dixie Chicks, “Wide Open Spaces”
 
“Tell me – did Venus blow your mind?
Was it everything you were hoping to find?
And did you mis me while you were looking for yourself out there?”
~Train “Drops of Jupiter”

“I dont want to close my eyes
I dont want to fall asleep…
And I dont want to miss a thing.”
 ~Aerosmith “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing”

There are so many love songs written for so many love’s of people’s lives… or at least love’s of people’s moments. But I sing them for me and to Travel and to everything inside that burns and aches and tingles with nervous excitement and desire at the merest of mentions of a new adventure.
 
They’re my theme songs – my odes to loves lost and found – but not to the boys that crushed my hopeful crushes or the men that hurt and I hurt. Instead, they’re my odes to the heart-thumping, sweaty palms, short breaths, titilliating, nerve-racking, unconditional joy of traveling. Seeing somewhere new isn’t always perfect (maybe it never is); sometimes it leaves me underwhelmed and unfulfilled, but my love for it – it never wanes.
 
We fight, Travel and I, when I just need sleep or when another temple looks like another temple, but I never leave her behind, never go to bed angry and always, always forgive.
 
I give to Travel what I can’t give to men: unwavering trust, commitment, compassion, compromise and intimacy.
 
I am intimate with Travel because she never judges, never intimidates (and I can’t see intimacy without intimidation), never makes me question. I accept her flaws, and she mine.
 
She knows I can be moody and even cruel – growling at the train station attendant when we are an hour late or crying over inconsequential circumstances. I know she’s demanding, forceful even. And when I’m unprepared and unorganized, I know she has a tendency to spite me.
 
But always, Travel – she gives me wide open spaces – even in the narrowest of a Buddhist nation’s tiny alley lanes – to make my biggest mistakes. She leads me back to my reality, time after time, with drops of Thailand, Swaziland, Japan and every land in my hair. And all she asks in return is that I refuse to close my eyes, refuse to fall asleep – so that I won’t miss a thing.
 
These are my theme songs, the soundtrack of my life. They are my odes to love – in nature, in chaos, in me.
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~ by C on February 22, 2010.

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