The renovations are over. Our home looks better than my most hopeful dream. My desk is planted in front of a bay window where an interesting parade of people passes all day long: monochromatic Goths, purple-haired Emos, aging hippies, teens in retro gear, girls on bikes in long flowing skirts, oldsters on walkers, and many people in various shapes sizes. Sometimes I just sit and stare.
In a true ‘every silver lining has a gray cloud’ way, this happiness comes at a cost: I never want to leave it. Contentment may be hazardous to my creative life. It may isolate me here with these physical comforts.
Einstein said that feeling and longing are the motive forces behind all human endeavours and human creations. That’s mildly comforting because I always long to write a better page, write a more suspenseful story.
Still I have this strong resistance to leaving my cocoon. I want to stay here and revel in the changes that I watched happen, nail by nail, inch by inch, for six months. So maybe I’ll sit down at my desk and open that novel that is slowly taking shape. If I do that, what will I bring to it from my protected shell of modern living?
What is that voice I hear? Could it be Henry David Thoreau whispering across the ether? How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.
It may be time to stand up and go somewhere. To walk on a different beach or take a bus downtown and recharge the creative juices.
Are you feeling dangerously content today? Or are you away from your desk, your laptop, or your notebook, improving your writing in other, less obvious ways?
Photo from Wikimedia Commons: White Rock Lake Dallas Dock Feet by WroteOddly