Walking

Some of the greatest revelations emerge from walking alone observing things around me. And some of the greatest conversations I've had with people are from sharing those revelations.

It's not just any walk. It's not the 5 minutes to the subway trying not to freeze or sweat or thinking of a game plan cramming into a train on a busy morning commute. It's not the 5 minutes walking to work thinking whether or not I should get a coffee or what emails I have to write. And it's definitely not walking indoors from cube to cube, room to room. It's the 50 streets I suddenly feel like walking because a) the weather's nice, b) I'm wearing comfortable shoes, c) I need a walk to clear my mind up. I remember those essays I wrote in Creative Writing all too well now - writing about a walk in the city and tying that walk into a greater idea. It's like a Mr. Miyagi "wax-on-wax-off" moment!

And after these walks I'm quite at peace with myself - it could, be like running to runners and painting to painters. And then when I'm ready to share with my friends my thoughts - everything just falls into place and I felt like I had the best conversations. Runners share their medals and painters share their artwork. Everyone shares his/her triumphs. But I guess these walks don't happen very often, nor do these revelations appear, nor do the conversations happen. Distractions and commitments to people and work are often the major obstacles keeping people from digging a little deeper, being a little more self reflective. So most of the time, I, like most people will just continue working, continue commuting, continue trying to climb a corporate ladder and hoping for that chance of a lifetime walk to come by soon. Because when it does come, I'm just glad it came my way to remind me to break a routine and start a reflection.

There's always something in the way...

to keep me from writing. I read some email that at times writers need to take a break from their everyday lives trying to make a few cents planning this, planning that, excelling here, climbing there, to take a moment in and see where their writing have gone. Nowhere. Which is the reason why I'm hopeful in reviving my blogs to get me in the mode. In the end - look back at my words give me a great sense of fulfillment - just knowing that I wrote.

There are days that I spent a whole day watching garbage on TV - sinfully pleasurable television at that, when I really could've begun revising my short story. I vowed to leave it alone for half a year, and now that the time is up, I can't seem to go back. Sheer laziness? Or fear of revisiting and tearing it apart? Or fear that there really is no more to the story, that I sucked it dry trying too hard? Writers' doubts, no doubt.