Word by Word

Whenever I desire to sit down and write, I notice things. How I'm able to write my feelings (rather than eat them), my observations, my dreams or my opinions. The freedom to write anything can be overwhelming. I could write about my childhood, my life now, an elementary school teacher, my grandmother's house and how her bedroom was covered in baby powder. ** Nanny used baby powder all over herself each day, and never dusted her bedroom in all the years I sat in her bed drinking (forbidden for children, at the time) coffee. Extra milk and sugar, which made it taste like candy.

There's so much to document, write, review or rant about, that it's a never ending list of topics to put down on paper. Well, not always paper anymore, I suppose. What about the time little Suzie threw up in 1st grade class, and 4 other children did so in response to the smell and site of it all. What about Grandpa Smith who would always sneeze at the kitchen table while everyone was eating, without covering his nose/mouth. What about the neighbor who loved to practice fly fishing in his backyard and caught things not meant to be caught. And then there's the house with all the windows completely covered with foil, with a well manicured yard, and never a soul in site. There's a story everywhere I look and everywhere I've been.

Writing motivates me to look closely at life. It encourages me to do things, explore, and most importantly, pay attention. When I'm observing life, it's easier to write about it. I make a memory in my head, with a note to self : "You may want to write about that". Details are registered in my mind, processed and stored for later. The one fly in the ointment is that I can't remember everything I want to remember. I'll make that mental note, singe it into my mind, and 3 minutes later, it's gone. Flown away like the birds heading south for winter. Gone, no longer with same day delivery as I strain to bring it back. It's a notion that reminds me of a dog with it's chew toy. Biting at it, flinging it over my shoulder, licking it, coddling it, throwing it in the air and flinging it over my shoulder again. Wrestling it to the ground, and just short of barking, the memories of what I'm trying to fetch begin to return. Whew, as I wasn't sure I would be able to remember what I wanted to remember. I had better jot it down next time, and not in a form of secret code, that I myself cannot decode, even though it's  my own code.

Back out of that rabbit hole I crawl. Writing, to me, is a form of creation that I find different than music, painting, art or photography. Writing requires I sit and put my fingers on a keyboard, in front of no one, and translate what's inside this head of mine into a story that needs some order and makes some sense. It doesn't need to be perfect, although writers want it to be perfect. It's about putting things in places, so that others can find them. It's about the ability to quiet my mind, above the other 22 voices in my head that sound like a colony of bats invaded by drunken monkeys. It's about rocking in my chair, clearing space to hack away at these voices, and get out of my own way - and write. It's often a time where I feel like every mental illness I've ever thought I had is sitting next to me chattering away, convincing me that "this is great!", "no, it's not", or "what are you doing?" Then, after I pack away all my "friends" sitting around me, I'm able to word by word begin creating. All my wild words begin to soften and appear in front of me, as I feel the delight of writing.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm just like anyone who may procrastinate. Even when it's something we may want to do, all of a sudden I wonder if I need to call and make an appt for something. I might study my teeth in the mirror. Wonder if I need braces again. Wait, what if this neck pain is meningitis. I probably need to tweeze some hairs. I've been meaning to clean out that closet upstairs. The animals, do they need something right now? When are their vaccines due. Luckily, I've played this game with my mind before. Simmer down now, all those things will wait. My free floating list of things To-Not-Do-Right-Now can wait.

My fantasy of typing like a court reporter nor the flow of beautiful prose streaming like the rivers has come to light, I still write. I write to indulge my soul, figure myself out, share my hopes and fears, all while reshuffling the deck of words in anticipation that they may also speak to others. Word by word is how I get there. I don't take myself too seriously, as I've discovered that to figure out who I am, plenty of mistakes will be made along the way. Writing them down is theraputic.

Writing shows me that things are moving into place, and the fluidity of life cannot be underestimated. There are no backsies, no re-do buttons for me. I can never seem to reach the Easy button. It's just too high. There are epic fails to learn from, along with the daily trivial mistakes that I should not take lightly. I enjoy writing about it all. It's a cleansing process, which ironically will forever be documented. Hopefully the goat police or the real police will not find any evidence in my written words that warrant a visit. Paranoia is always perfect material. The worst decisions make the best stories, so they say.

I continue to trust the process of writing, that it will serve the purpose it is meant to serve. I do not always know what that is. I do know that with writing, that sometimes, it takes finding out what doesn't work, to find what does. In one nano second something sounds good and right on paper, and then, uh no.

I'll close with outlining my Top 3 List of writers/authors:

#1 Brene Brown - Of course, and I say of course because I've read her books multiple times and they speak my language. Her books actually speak Cyndi. She speaks to owning our story and loving ourselves through it.
#2 Oprah Winfrey - Yes, she's a wonderful writer and author. The contents of her book(s) speaks to my soul, every time.
3# Bob Goff (Everybody Always, Love Does), Judah Smith (How's Your Soul?) and Shonda Rhimes (Year of Yes, plus others!) - It's a 3 way tie, as I adore these authors and their books immensely. They push me to my personal edge in regards to seeing the world in a holier and
spiritual way that is not often spoke of in society, in this day and time when diversity is king. These books take me to my roots of how God is good, that He works through each of us, and teaches us to live with love in our hearts and our faith in our pockets - at all times.

There's far too many wonderful writers to list, really, but this begins the list that goes on and on.

Sometimes I'm like a blind dog sitting behind a car, not knowing what's going to hit me in life. Will it this time, will it not. And like the dog, I don't even know that danger is there. That's why I write. The beauty of it all. The good, the bad, and the awesome.

Cyndi