I’ve struggled with writing lately. It seems my ideas all fall down the paint of a wall, just clinging without any recourse to jump off and search meaning. I can sometimes feel inspired, but I cannot seem to piece together my words the way I would prefer. It seems I have lost a knack for letting my stream of consciousness dive right in. I’m searching for words.
I reflect back on some of my early writing. I could write in phrases with Shakespearean pentameter like it would roll off my tongue. Of late, I seem to confuse my poetry with prose, and it just feels like it is dragging down the paper. I don’t know what to do with my writing.
There are some moments when I can fall into a groove but its impact is brief. I want to take a story and run. I want to write a poem that seems calculated but free. It seems I have fallen off a path where I was that poet that people tell me I am. I want to let my words run and tell stories both in the framework of poetry and prose. It feels to me now I’m falling into some zone that has wonderful potential.
I’m telling a story, and it is helping me come to terms with who I am. I have lived a life of wonder in the hearts and minds of hundreds of students over a couple decades. I ought to have plenty to write about. I want to be that conversationalist that plays with words and winds tales from the memory of my mind. I have a few to tell.
Today, I’m directing theatre. I won’t go into it only to protect the players, but the truth is they bring me alive. I can feel their energy and I want them to feel successful in their efforts. They seem to smile, to indicate they are into it. Rehearsals have been playful and as I write this I wonder if students are sensing my commitment. I’m laid back but I get things done, on the stage. It feels good again to be designing a show and using such an organic process. As I’ve already realized, I have a lot more time to work on the show. And that project is what keeps me moving forward, finding purpose again in my life. It could turn into a real promise, if we can pull off this show, together.
I feel like I lost my way, even though that’s how I have felt nearly my entire life. Because of the loss of a marriage, and a relationship within the course of 15 months, I have pursued so many different endeavors trying to find my way. It’s only now as I write this that I feel a sense of confidence in my words. How did I get here, by simply wanting to have a conversation with the reader? See that’s the thing I have done as a director, helped kids along the way, find themselves and feel validation. So, I’m trying to find my own by examining my last couple of years.
I used primal scream, exercise, meditation, all later culminating in endless marathons of television (how unfortunate), and in that time my writing took a sabbatical. Tonight, I feel like this is the first time I have written anything significant in weeks, and as I do, I am really speculative to what I am putting on the page. Seems rather foolish, really.
So when I speak of wanting to connect, it is finding my groove, my mojo, if you will excuse the overstated expressions. I’m listening to beautiful music right now and that I think is the reason I’m feeling a certain freeing energy in my writing. I think I’ll just let this ferment for a while.