I feel like there is something powerful enough in me that can make a meaningful difference, to change things for the better. This is not at all unusual for someone my age or younger, the difference is that I am rapidly gaining the means to do so in my work and in my own mind. But until I force myself to learn to harness those thoughts into something readily digested by others, that this is nothing more than potential energy.
How frustrating is it to see what is there but not be able to unlock it?
So, what does one do about that then, learn to write? “No thanks” utters me, the inner hedonist. Why would I make myself do something I hate doing?
But I orient so many other parts of myself towards doing more good. I suffer through painful experiences, I grow as a person. Why not this? I’d like to get a pleasure out of writing that I know is there for me to behold.
As a scientist, I went through high school absorbing knowledge in a range of dimensions. Some things I considered a waste of my time and English was one of those. As I had spelling and comprehension sorted to a level well beyond my peers and as an entirely sufficient utility to meet my needs, building upon my learning in this area was nothing other than superfluous. I ‘read’ the novels I was assigned but only the chapters and passages I needed to complete the assignments. I can’t tell you what Of Mice and Men or A Midsummer Nights’ Dream was about, nor recite more than two lines from Romeo and Juliet.
At work I create, constantly. In the fast-paced world of big business there is little room for novel writing and I would say I’ve consciously worked toward conveying my message in the most succinct way possible, out of necessity. In fact, words rarely cut the mustard any more. Communication styles at my organisation favour the visuals of PowerPoint or, if you have a budget at your disposal, audio-visuals. I’ve graduated from writing paragraphs on slides, to bulleted semi-phrases and elaborate diagrams, to polished and visually pleasing models and photographs to convey my narrative, but this had taken several years and I need to get a lot better.
So here I am. I started this blog when a friend suggest I set myself a challenge to write something every day. I went months without writing anything for public consumption and since removed myself from all but one or two social media channels when things went south in my personal life, but as I get a better handle on that I find myself looking for mechanisms of self-discovery with higher meaning. I’m notoriously flippant and my attention span is sporadic at best but this is something for the long term and I’m prepared to give it a crack.
Until I shift my obsession towards something else, that is.
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