I feel uninspired.
I feel uninspired to write.
I feel uninspired to blog.
I would assume that, after reading the above statement(s), most writers and/or bloggers would council me to put down the netbook and come back when I have something that I want to say (or blog?). While it is great to “practice” writing, even when you do not feel like you have much to say, “writing” and “blogging” are vastly different. Writing can take place in your journal, on a napkin at Beth’s Cafe, or on the back of one of the seats on the 48. The concept of “practicing blogging” is something that doesn’t really exist in the real world, because your blog is public and people read it. Either you blog, or you don’t. If you “practice” for too long, people will tire of your pointless and unpolished ramblings and move on to better and more thought-out blogs. Right?
Well, honestly, I don’t know, and nor do I care. To my knowledge, I didn’t sit down in this big, empty, unfamiliar house to spend a bunch of time banging away at the keys on my cramped keyboard about whether it is possible to practice the hobby of blogging.
Wait. . . big, empty, unfamiliar house?
Oh yeah, by the way, I am house sitting for the week(end). It’s great. I get to be 6.7 miles closer to my work, hang out with a dog and two cats, and spend some quality time with someone that I haven’t seen in awhile.
Since moving to Seattle, I feel like I have partially lost the ability to be alone with myself and be content. Without getting into too much detail, looking back on the past two years, a lot of my time was spent with someone else, with roommates, working, hanging out with co-workers (not to be confused with friends, mind you, (more on this later) I don’t really have a lot of friends here), or doing something to fill my time until I was spending time with someone else again. There have been pockets of time (more so lately) when I was truly alone with myself, but those pockets were at times awkward and panicked, as I flip flopped back and fourth between enjoying the new companionship in myself and missing other people.
All in all, though, the past two years have not been bad in the least. They have been periods of immense growth for me.
But don’t worry, I won’t bore you with stories about how different I am now from who I was back in Ashland. Because, in fact, I’m not really all THAT different. My stay at this big, empty, unfamiliar house has reaffirmed that for me.
Tonight, I left work at around 6:20, pedaled my bike the 3.3 miles to the house where I am staying, was greeted by a very happy and energetic dog, walked said dog, played with said dog, ate dinner and sat down to read a book. Only the book reading only lasted about 45 minutes. Before long I found myself thinking about emotions and how they affect our present state of being.
Tonight I remembered something that the Ashland Muuqi knew quite well. Tonight I remembered something that I have been doing all too much since moving up here.
Tonight I remembered that actively trying to chase happiness is like trying to catch the wind. Only by living in and experiencing the present moment do we achieve “happiness”. And once it is achieved, you are so wrapped up in enjoying what is going on around you that you do not stop and think “hey. . . wait a second. . . I’m happy doggone it!”
So this post is dedicated to dogs leaning against your legs. This post is dedicated to waking up to find a cat sleeping on your belly. This post is dedicated to making a delicious breakfast for yourself and no one else.
To losing track of time while petting a cat (what is this whole “time” thing anyway? Well. . . more on that later probably). To the sound of my new city outside the window. To my bike sitting in the dining room, waiting to be ridden tomorrow, but looking beautiful. To reading The Sun. To breathing deeply. To falling asleep early.
To sitting down to blog and not caring about what emerges as I type. . .