Typically speaking, it is an attractive letter. It curves quite smoothly, I’ve always found it to be one of the particularly easy letters to pen and it is the letter which has been known to start off a multitude of sweet things: cake, cookie, cuddling… But for some reason, when paired with something of great importance, that sweet letter becomes my plague.
For as long as I can remember, writing has always been a number one for me. I place it above most facets of expression, including visual arts and verbal discourse. Not that I have anything against the mentioned, I just prefer a well crafted sentence, or a series of lines and shades.
Writing to me it one way to truly unveil myself, completely. My writing is always laden with full disclosure and truth. I would never lie, or exaggerate; never pretend or feign a story for general interest. For me, if you do not want to read the truth, then steer away from my musings. Perhaps this is the fundamental reason why I – against all my efforts – have never been good at fiction writing. After a chapter or two, I lose connection with the story. While I try to pull aspects of myself out and into the prose, I can never fully complete the story because, for me, it isn’t the truth.
Yesterday, on my ten-minute break, I rushed to the back room to check to see if my long-awaited grade for my psychological case study on the character Bones had been marked.
It had been.
I got a C.
While, I know it is not healthy to be this connected to a hobby, every ounce of writing I produce becomes extremely important to me. It is never ‘half-asses’, or thrown together the night prior, but always well thought through, edited several times… often re-written. So, to receive a mediocre mark to, what you considered, a great effort, hurts.
Immediately, I was shot down. As typical of me, I immediately extrapolated the mere grade on one individual piece of work to being a general statement regarding my abilities as a writer. Truthfully, even writing this, I feel like a failure.
After being betrayed by my own initial, I took five even breaths as I looked at myself in the mirror of the lounge where I was employed and walked back out onto the sales floor. I often find that submerging myself entirely into my work is the only thing that gets my mind fully off any kind of pain within me.
Luckily for me, my first customer post my mellow-dramatic trauma was a pregnant woman with a five year old girl.
Moments like these urge me to believe in a higher power…
The mother and I engaged in a discussion of children and pregnancy, both agreeing that our dreams were always to parent one boy and one girl (this did not wane her excitement of having a second baby girl on the way, nor would it mine). I – naturally – turned to the young girl, who was eager about her ‘Hello Kitty’ sticker book and began to tell her how lucky she was to have gotten such a lovely book. She agreed, with little hesitation. After intentionally prolonging the transaction for a solid six minutes, the two left and headed to their car.
By this point, I had completely forgotten about my ‘C’. I stood there with what could only be described as a smile fit for a patient of Bethlem circa 1337. I was immediately pulled from my moment of visual insanity by a small voice which lay behind me:
‘I love your blog.’
Being that I had only began this current blog a mere week ago, to already have a fan was not expected, but welcomed. It had been a co-worker to whom I’ve grown to enjoy greatly. I informed her of my passions for writing and furthermore, my love of helping others. To this, she nodded and replied: ‘It’s good; you’re really good. I like it.’
It was at that moment that it occurred to me. Or, better yet, reoccurred to me. Writing is so subjective. It is the one major set back. What is alluring to one, might be garbage to another; as humans we are predisposed to prefer writing adjacent to our own.
More importantly however it was at this moment when I realized how sometimes the right things are said at just the right time. The individual had no idea that at that current moment I was feeling absolutely dreadful about my writing, yet complimented me – quite strongly – regarding it. We had been together all day prior, so it was not as if this was her only chance. But, at that particular moment, she let me know. These moments have always caused me to think about what is, or what could be; and lately, due to my choices to be more in-tune with my mind, I’ve become more open to spirituality. Is there something, or some one, above who compels others to feel better? Or, are these truly just arbitrary moments, causing us to feel better, with no particular divine reasons behind it.