Detours

 Reverb10 - December 2 - Writing

"What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing 

and can you eliminate it?'

I cringed when I read this question. I saw myself lounging on the couch watching SportsCenter; sitting at the computer, for hours, link leaping my way from one site to the next; and sitting in front of a blank page only to create a to do list. I spiraled into a memory cinema where the images flying past on the screen were my daily detours. I wondered how I could make that long list of digressions interesting and pondered how honest I could allow myself to be in such a confession.

These thoughts were flying around in my mind as I drove to an appointment this morning. Looking at the clock I realized I was going to be 15 minutes early. Sighing, I decided to drive around until I was expected to arrive. Splitting my attention between my thoughts and the road, I drove around the neighborhood. Suddenly, I realized I was driving in circles and paying no attention to the world I was moving through. When I did look, I saw lawn ornaments made of rusted iron looking back at me, houses painted more colors than I dare to wear, trees holding their last leaves, glowing in a brilliant light-- everywhere I looked, beauty was there to meet my eyes.

I was too busy thinking about the obstacles that block my art to see the inspiration that surrounded me. As I turned the car around and drove back to the site of my appointment, I understood. I was not in the moment. I am creating my own obstacles by splitting my intentions.

Driving and waging an internal debate, cooking dinner and planning a tutoring session, signing a birthday card and discussing the how superior the Falcons are to the Buccaneers, writing this post with Tweetdeck popping up in the corner... Each of these tasks has much to offer me as a writer. They shape my moments. They offer colors, feelings, scents, tastes, smells, challenges, conflicts and other nuances that I am missing when I multitask my way through the day.

I commit to being more present in my days. Looking up from screens, parking the car and using those extra minutes to explore. When I cook, I will immerse myself in the sensory symphony that plays in the kitchen. My hands will be reaching for a pen to pour these details on to paper. When they do, I will ask them to put down whatever else they are holding and give them time to write.


{the picture: I was standing with a 6 year old friend on a playground. He looked up, pointed into the branches above us, and said "It's a rabbit!"}