The first thought to pop off the end of my pencil this
morning was, “I woke up thinking what I am to write today…” actually, my
conscious mind thought, “What am I to write today….” But in the translation
between my mind and my pencil, my pencil won.
Its stubborn word-flip flop asked me to investigate who I am as a writer and a communicator for the world rather than looking around for some assignment to float, featherlike, into my line of vision and pluck it from the air to write it and share it with you.
What am I to write today?
The clichés push their way to the forefront of my mind: love,
community, presence, passion, family.
My secondary clichés show up, wishing I would for once make them first: color, harmony, friendship, creativity, poetry and travel.
I close my eyes and again, automatically put my hands into a prayer position and rest my face on them. It isn’t even six a.m. yet this writing – right here – this writing you are reading is not letting me go. This writing is holding me in its arms, asking me to give it voice.
I request permission for coffee which it grants. I put socks on my feet before I pace across the hardwood floor of my dining room. I hear my household beginning to awaken.
My journey into my kitchen includes feeding my cat, Alice, who meows for my attention. I grant it to her. I pour my coffee into the Zion National Park mug which asked to come home with me from Utah last Summer. I turn to see the Christmas lights were left on all night. It is still so dark outside, it could be midnight.
It isn’t, it was 5:56 when I last looked at my clock.
I grab my phone to record the darkness next to the color.
I hear water, a shower, perhaps.
I hear Emma’s alarm sing: Taylor Swift, to be precise.
I walk into the cold to snap a shot, to catalog my day visually.
I walk back into the house and hear the jingle bell on the inside. I smell the coffee.
I return to my desk, realizing in each and all of those steps I am writing.
Today may become a day for drawing writing subjects from a jar.
It may be a day of brainstorming or mindmapping or perhaps a day where freewriting reigns.
I may stay plugged into my desk for most of the morning or I
may go to meditation, instead. I may republish an old gem. I consider one from
last December, writing about community. I decline that invitation.
I reflect on the weekend in San Francisco and scribble, “No destination leads to my exact destination” and realize that is who I am what I am how I am to write today.
Will you come with me, too? Who are you to write today?
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