Living in the present can be difficult. The past tugs at our coattails, the future is a glimpse around a shadowy corner just ahead — it’s far too easy to get distracted imagining if the two will resemble one another. Not once, to my recollection, have I ever successfully resided in The Now. I have always wanted to be in some other time, some other place, anywhere other than the spot on which I stood. Until now.
Sure, I have fond memories (and grievous dread) of the past, as well as hope and trepidation for the future. But I’m finally, geographically and emotionally where I have always longed to be.
For a few days now I have been blissfully basking in the glow of belonging … and then a thought popped in my head …
What will the experience of true satisfaction do to my writing? Is it even possible for a satisfied person to be creative?
The most prolific writing period of my life occurred when I was anything but satisfied. I was emotionally starved, depressed by my geographical location, and fearful that I would be forever stuck in the middle of all of it.
It was the process of learning, of writing, of sharing my writing with strangers around the globe that eventually opened my eyes to the beauties and possibilities of my undesired location. Even so, the place was never truly home. Not a day passed without me imagining how much better it would be to relocate. Someday.
This morning, long before sunrise, I walked my dog through multi-colored leaves beneath the lovely gleam of bridge lights while enjoying the fresh scents of countless trees and a nearby river. I am so enamored, so utterly satisfied with being home, that I find myself at a loss for inspiration to even attempt describing the feeling to anyone. I feel no real need to translate, to share. I just want to stay here and watch the sun come up.
Of course, I know myself well enough to believe this will change at some point — whether or not I produce a successful translation via poetry or fiction, I recognize this as the first outstanding step in a new direction. There’s just no telling how long the process of absorbing my new sense of satisfaction might last before I get down to work.
So … now I’m thinking about writers who have discussed the importance of home (or lack of) in their writing. Here are a few articles that touch on the subject in one way or another:
What say you? Did finding home inspire you to write, to translate your own sense of place and satisfaction through characters with intricate plot lines? Or, do you thrive on the stress and mess of endlessly searching for THAT PLACE YOU MIGHT ONE DAY BELONG?
Speaking of writing — I know everyone is up to their ears in REAL LIFE right now, myself included, but what’s say we make a break for 300 words! The December Tales game is underway. I’ll do it if you will. Let’s play!