Shorties: Number 16

Writers sometimes get blocked.  I am not immune but I have an empty house.  It is such a rare treat.  My heart has to be purged.  There is so much to express.  I will start with this simple yet complex machine. 

As I type upon the keys, I cherish memories of various times it was put to use.  There was the 17 hour flight from Mumbai to New York City.  I was blurry eyed with emotion and lack of sleep.  I still took time to journal since sleep would not rest upon me.  I also used Garageband and made some music.  I had plenty of time to reflect upon my three weeks of work in India and the wonderful people I met. 

I remember having a very sudden chance to visit my sister for a weekend when she and her husband lived in Groningen, The Netherlands.  It was the first weekend in March that year and I stuffed all my belongings into a backpack.  This included my laptop.  It was bursting at the seams and added more pounds of weight than I wanted to carry.  The lappy came in handy.  Why?  I was stuck in an aisle seat that was broken.  I mentioned this to the flight attendant and she was surprised I was given this seat since it was supposed to have been blocked.  I could take a middle seat a couple rows forward of this.  I considered that option for a brief moment.  I remembered I work 12 hours shifts.  I reasoned 8 hours in an uncomfortable seat was nothing.  My laptop and I did more writing and music making on that and the return flight.  On the return, there was a delay and I missed my connection home.  Oh the joys of air travel. 

I have long found comfort in writing.  I first started doing so as a means to sort my thoughts.  I was in my early 20s and had no idea what I was doing.  I see that now but thought I did at the time.  I simply wrote what I felt.  When I was done, I’d read my heart on that paper.  Before, it was jumbled in my mind since I was too close to see what it all was.  Seeing it in a concrete form helped me tremendously.

When you boil it down, it’s not about the device.  It’s all about the one using it.  A paintbrush, a pen, a computer or camera is nothing without the one holding it.  Even one who is talented can still improve their abilities.  We never arrive.  We are what we become. 

I’ll be 53 in a few more months and I still don’t have all the answers.  I’m still trying to figure out who I am.  With stops and starts, laughter and tears, hugs and I need more hugs, I have to keep writing.  Whether it is this laptop or some other device, my heart has so much more screaming to be heard.  I truly am overjoyed some people actually like some of those screams.