He had moved from thoughts to words..." This year I am going to write deliberately and consistently. I’ve been told my “why” must be burning to pursue consistent action. So, here is my why. My thoughts must be moved out of my head and into reality. They run freely in the wide-open spaces of the mind and corner themselves and begin panicking. But, on paper, in black and white, I view them open-minded and put them into neat little things called sentences. I expound on what I started, analyze what I believe, traverse in new directions, condone, reflect, and understand. I write to exist outside of my head. But, TV feels better than introspection and social media supersedes self-reflection. In the name of comfort and relaxation I indulge the dull glow and accept the momentary lapse. It’s hard work to explore and stimulate the mind. At one point it wasn’t. The writing process used to be moderately comfortable. In fact, opening myself up to the world was wholesome and enjoyable, albeit terrifying. I’d like to find that again. The courage I had in the old days—the courage to habitually seek out beauty and meaning in living objects. Most of my life has been traditional glory. Baseball, ford trucks, fishing, reclaimed wood, Springsteen and the Bible. Things old and worn, but trustworthy and unassuming. Things “they don’t make the same anymore”. Things that smell old and sound old and have been here long but are somehow still living and contributing. I want to capture them for a minute. Hold them in my view and let them sink into my soul. They don’t belong to me. They always belonged to somebody else or to nobody. So, I let them loose. I love the idea of creating, but originality is not my M.O. I like tapestry, assembly, and rejuvenation--the fixing of broken or forgotten things and the embracing of natural ones. If "there is nothing new under the sun," I can't make something new. Writing liberates the things I’ve collected. I read, experience, observe, explore. It soaks in and I let it go. Writing is a gauge that lets me know the quality of my consumption There is a freedom in writing. The type of freedom where the mind can wander and imagine and strive for more. Boundaries are the hard piece, and the vulnerability. But, this is where my soul is, and this is where I find it. It is in words and nature and no matter what type of living I make I will live this way. How does a person “make” a living anyway? I miss the curiousity most. I can drink coffee and postulate and ponder. Answers are not always apparent or necessary. Spending life searching for reverie, reading good books, and trying to find it. Pursuing the something more, the pieces of heaven that are at hand and leaning into the longing to be reunited with a creator. If you’re reading this trying to make sense of my rambling words let me leave you with this concrete thought: In a thousand days at work, I have attained no more valuable knowledge, feeling of importance, or living than in 5 minutes laying on the pavement staring at the stars with the crisp air filling my lungs, vaporous breath briefly clouding my vision and then vanishing, and the gnawing reminder there is infinitely more than the human mind can fathom. And that is something I can never lose. Therefore, I write. And then I post. I post because I know how I feel when I read. Reading helps me. It helps me believe I am not alone in thinking a certain way. It helps me untangle my jumbled thoughts. It gives me visions of the future, so I can plan and act. It makes me laugh; it makes time pass; it elevates my vocabulary and increases my empathy. I have to write anyway, so maybe someone else who needs to read will absorb something that helps. And let’s be candid with each other, dear reader. I post because a part of me would like to exist as a contribution to society. If you have reached this point, thank you. My encouragement to you is to do the thing you must do to live forward—to be fruitful. See the unseen, listen intently, breathe deeply, smell things that have stood the test of time, take them in and then release them to the world in your own unique way. This is the first real post of 2019. Over the next 47 weeks I will post once per week content relevant to the framework with which I am building an intentional adult life. This is a desire inspired by "Walden" and my need to think then write then live. If you'd like to subscribe or share that would be really cool. "Finally, at last! From that speck on that clover their voices were heard! They rang out clear and clean. And the elephant smiled. “Do you see what I mean?..." Horton Hears a Who – Dr. Seuss
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I'm a Hoosier. I like the outdoors. Taxes are my job. I write for a living. This Blog
Writing my way to an adult life of minimalism, sustainability, and joy rooted in Truth. I'm learning, unlearning, and relearning.
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