Photo: courtesy of Carrie Hampton (image source lifeofpolarnper.blogspot.com)
My friend Carrie posted this picture on my facebook page today. The cup, decorated with crusty coffee rings, and the crisp white paper, decorated with wet, jet black ink gawked at me, igniting a firestorm of speculation. This fresh page, coated with precisely placed pigment, suddenly grew to bare the weight of one person's mixture of words, words different from other combinations of words, ideas different from other iterations of the same sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and surfaces--a magical concoction only capable of being concocted by this one particular brain.
The written word is a mystery. The written word is magic. The written word is everything.
Looking beyond the page and the cup, I gazed into the reflection of the surface holding them both. A faint outline of a skyline peered back at me--but only for a moment. Seconds later, I saw a retro black speckled formica table begging me to rest my elbows on its surface. Of course, this thought was also replaced. My eyes fixated on the smeared bleep of brown light nestled between the coffee and the journal. In that mad dash of fuzziness, I saw--for a moment--my own face, my own eye, my own conscience. "Write" it yelled at me. It's the first day of the new year. Do the very thing that sets your insides ablaze.
And so I did.
I sat down, and I imagined 2012. I salivated at the journal peering back at me, like many women salivate over scented lotion, flowers or fresh potpourri. Tingles crept up my arms with the energy of a million little elves, and my mind exploded with vignettes of my future.
It's funny how grand dreams can be. I have everything I really need. Love, food, shelter--my brain, my hands, my heart. And yet as I look at this blank page, all I can imagine is what I want to accomplish, what I want to manifest from the air around me. I'm too old for the naivety that beats within the fabric of my heart, but after spending the last four days painting, packing, rearranging, and scrubbing, I find myself anything but tired.
One day soon, we will put our place on the market and hopefully it will sell. One day soon, we will find a house--maybe it will be the short sale we are trying to win, maybe it will be somewhere else. Maybe I will finish editing my manuscript and maybe an agent will believe in it. Maybe I will win the short story contest I entered a few weeks ago. Maybe I can get back into working out without hurting myself. Maybe JA will turn an essay in on time or RB will slow down his reading enough to actually comprehend the words bounding from the page and into his eyes. And heck, while we are wishing away, imagining a bunch of maybes, who knows--before this year is over, maybe J and I will make a baby.
I love this day--this first day of the new year--because it is a fresh start. It's the day where we can vow to be better. To overcome all of the silly mistakes we made or the silly things we've said. It is the day of maybes and dreams. It's the day after inked up journal pages and empty coffee mugs--where you turn the page, wash the cup, and fill it up with something fresh.
Happy new year. Happy 2012. Dream big and live your life so fully that even your crust tastes good.
So glad to know that a simple picture could provide you with such wonderful inspiration. Best of everything to you in the New Year.
ReplyDelete- Carrie