say yes to yes.

Sometimes it's a Monday and you need to freewrite. Just garbage, you just need to get it out, clean out the gutter, empty the trash, get something moving through your head and your hands. I feel inspired today. I feel uninspired today. I have no desire to write about anything other than how much I hate my writing. I can accept it. These days come and go.

Lately, I have been easier on myself because I realize that, even when I'm not writing, I'm building the material in my head. I am always, always thinking about everything I see, about philosophy, about people, about life.

I know I still need to write though.

I can or I can't. I want to or I don't. Whatever.

I have been thinking lately about what I recently heard someone call chronic powerlessness. That is, he thought we all suffered from censoring and limiting our own dreams because we feel held down by you-name-it.  Power structures, social structures, relationships, religion. I see it all over in my life. We all get it, don't we? Sometimes I think it's nothing more than a coping mechanism - it is easier to expect less or nothing and never be disappointed. Well let me say it again: WHATEVER. I can deal with disappointment. I will not deal with fear and immobility. Write something, write something. Write.

I lived in a house on a corner when I was twelve years old. I think it was blue but now I'm not sure. It had a great big yard and a garden in the back and that summer my brother grew sunflowers that were twice as tall as he was. I had a small bedroom with a window overlooking the street. I had a dream about that house last night. I'm always having dreams about that house, the school I attended that year, the town - though I don't know why because we only lived there for a year. For whatever reason it played a significant role in my subconscious. Well in my dream I was driving into town from the south. I can't remember what that town was called, but there was a Pamida there - the closest thing to a place to shop for at least a half an hour in every direction. I remember buying a sweatsuit at that Pamida with my mom. The parachute windbreaker kind. It was black and white. So in my dream, I was driving in from the south with another person in the car, a faceless friend. They were giving me directions but as soon as I hit the town, I knew where I was. I turned right and then left and there was the house on the left, that small house, maybe it was blue, maybe it wasn't. It was night and there was one streetlight directly above my parked car. I got out, went to the front door and knocked. It was obviously late at night. My mother answered the door and my brother and I were in the living room asleep on the couch - obviously our child selves. Well what does it mean? I have no idea. I guess I don't really care. It was just one of those weirdly disturbing dreams that makes me think my brain is trying to sort some stuff out and I don't know about it. I saw whales yesterday, whales from the shore and it blew my mind that way it always does, no matter how often I see them. And to think of someone who never thought they would see a whale. I don't know if I thought I would - I guess I had never considered it. It is strange to think about my old life, old lives, old ways of living and try to remember what I imagined for the future, what I thought I might see, whom I might meet, what I might accomplish. I don't think I thought much of it, to be completely honest. For someone who loves to plan, I do very little honest thinking about my future and what will come of it. So way back when a 22 year old me was sitting in classes, writing a thesis paper, making plans to buy a new car and move east - I never imagined what would come next. Even now, I have a difficult time seeing ahead. I can make plans but I can't make my brain imagine what it will be like. Good or bad, I don't know. (10 minutes)

The Rumpus has a series called Where I Write and I read this one this morning, posted by Sari Botton.  She writes,

On most mornings, I hike up a sort of mini-mountain behind my house in New York’s Mid-Hudson Valley. It’s a 45-minute hike, round-trip, which turns out to provide not only exactly as much aerobic activity as I need to maintain my weight, but also just enough time for me to birth what feels like a really strong idea, and then kill it good and dead before I return to the wooden gate that leads into my back yard.

Read this post.  I say yes to saying yes to your creative impulse.  I know very well how to kill something good and dead.  How about a change?